Partners of Paradox
by Kooro
Summary: For all those wanting more bromantic Neter fanfics. A compilation of drabbles, one-shots, and the overall behind the scenes/ peek into the lives of and the friendship between Neal and Peter. Mostly comedic but a few serious. Now with riddles!
1. Partners of Paradox

**Well it's about time I posted another White Collar fic. It's been a long time. Actually, this fic was written a long time ago - around the middle of the first season I think - but I never got around to posting it. **

**But now, here it is, the opening for a compilation of one-shots, drabbles, and other short stories that show the friendship between Neal and Peter. At least I hope they're short or less than four pages. I tend to make fics longer than originally intended. **

**So, for all those wanting more bromantic Neter fanfics, you've come to the right place!**

**(Disclaimer: while the plots, settings, and words spoken are my own, the characters are not. Just thought you should know before you try to sue me.)**

**._._._._._. **

Partners of Paradox

They were a paradox in every sense of the word.

They were a statement, a proposition, a situation that was so absurd, so extraordinarily contradictory that it seemed impossible that they could actually function together in reality.

But they did.

One was an FBI agent; a man in blue with a heart of gold. Older with far more maturity and experience: he was diligent, precise, pedantic, and an overall do-gooder with an unwavering knowledge of truth and justice. No crime went unpunished; no injustice overlooked. He was a man of absolute purity. Any man felt lucky to have his loyalty in the field. Any man was willing to risk their life for him. Every man felt safe with Peter Burke at their side.

The other was a reformed convict; an art thief who decided to use his skills for good. A charmer: sly, coy, able to dissolve into any crowd, able to attract every eye; to become any entity in the blink of an eye and a tip of the hat. He had a much higher sense of fashion and a thirst for anything of deep value, physical and emotional alike. He held deep secrets and kept his cards close to his chest. One always had to keep a firm hand on one's wallet while in the presence of Neal Caffrey.

But when these two conflicting forces combined, the man in blue changed his attire to assist that thief. And the thief did all that he could within his power to meet the high standards of that man in blue. And slowly, the man that fled the law became a protector of it.

Neal and Peter were partners. Paradoxical partners.

Loyal to each other with a malleable bond of trust that could be twisted and pulled thin but never broken.

They were complete opposites and yet completely alike. Ironically enough, they were perfect for each other; able to solve any crime; any mystery because they worked together.

As the saying goes, opposites attract.

**._._._._._.**

**Stay tuned for more.**

**Hobey-Ho!**


	2. Quotes

**And so another drabble has been written. **

**Got the idea from the episode "Need to Know" when Peter was giving the names of the people who said the quotes that Mozzie recited. Figured they wouldn't be above a little competition. **

**._._._._._.**

Quotes

"A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything but the value of nothing."

"Oscar Wilde."

"Not bad, Suit. Now let's see what you got."

"An idealist is a person who helps other people to be prosperous."

"What is this? Preschool? Henry Ford. Don't waste my time with such novice words."

"Just get on with it."

"Art is not a treasure in the past or an importation from another land, but part of the present life of all living and creating peoples."

"Franklin D. Roosevelt."

"Very good."

"Thanks."

"Don't get cocky now. You're turn."

"A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty."

"Winston Churchill. Is that really the best you can do?"

"Watch it."

"I'm real scared. But I'll take your empty threat as consent to continue. Art is a lie that makes us realize truth."

"Pablo Picasso. Are you going easy on me?"

"Oh, look at the Suit all high and mighty on his horse. Fine then, let's see you do better."

"I'd rather be hated for who I am, than loved for who I am not."

"Kurt Cobain. Despite what you think, I listen to good music too, you know."

"Really. And here I though you only listened to songs backwards to hear the satanic messages."

"You may scoff, but just you wait. When the time comes, I'll be the one who knows the secret code to survive."

"Sure. Did you change the topic because you forfeit?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you Suit. Sorry to disappoint. Emancipate yourself from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our mind."

"Bob Marley."

Neal opened the door to his room and froze at the sight of the two men sitting on his furniture, staring at one another with stubborn determination. He really shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn't like he really believed that he would actually be able to sit in the quiet of his room with a hot cup of coffee and enjoy the rare opportunity to think without interruption. No, his life was never that simple.

"Hey, Peter. When you'd get here?" Neal asked lightly as he came into his room and closed the door. The agent sitting across from their mutual friend didn't even glance at the ex-con.

"About half an hour ago," Peter replied tersely, still glaring at the round bald man sitting before him. "You weren't here. So I waited."

"Mozzie keeping you entertained then?" Neal asked, flashing a surprised smirked at his friend. It wasn't like Mozzie to willingly be alone in the same room with an FBI agent. Mozzie usually endeavored to avoid Peter and everyone else associated with the law. But the bald man paid Neal no attention now as he continued to stare unblinkingly at Peter.

"What's going on?" Neal asked cautiously, slightly dismayed that he had received no greeting from either of his friends. Not even a sidelong glance or a wave of acknowledgement. He leaned languidly against a table so that he could address both men.

"Just a little contest we started up," Mozzie answered. "To vilify a great man is the readiest way in which a little man can himself attain greatness."

"About what?" Neal asked, thoroughly confused now as he shifted his gaze from Mozzie to Peter in hopes that one of the men would actually look at him and give a solid answer.

"To see who knows the most quotes," Peter replied impassively without meeting Neal's eye. "Edgar Allen Poe." A triumphant smirk tugged at Peter's lips.

"You haven't won yet, Suit," Mozzie taunted with a sniff.

"A quote contest," Neal said aloud thoughtfully and with slight incredibility. "You're quizzing each other on quotes?"

"Obviously," Mozzie replied with exasperation as if explain all this to Neal was putting a strain on himself.

Neal thought a moment more before he offered his friends a coy smile; eyes sparkling mischievously. "All right. Here's one. At night they come without being fetched, and by day they are lost without being stolen. What are they?"

At last, Mozzie and Peter broke contact and finally turned their heads to look at Neal. The younger man beamed at both men expectantly.

"It's a _quote_ contest," Peter said, stressing the word for emphasis. "If you want to play the game you have to follow the rules."

"Ooo, never been good with following rules," Neal replied with mock-chagrin. He offered the agent a somewhat patronizing smile and straightened. "Well," he said with a shrug of his shoulders, "It's a good thing you have a rule then. Since you don't know the answer and all. The rule is a nice cover up." He winked at Peter with extra exaggeration.

"I'll be at the office if you want to know the answer," Neal said as he spun gracefully on his heel and headed for the door. At least there he could get a cup of coffee in peace and sit at his appointed desk without being disturbed. He didn't give a backwards glance but he knew that his friends were both watching him. He hid his own smile as he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Peter and Mozzie sat in silent contemplation for a moment. Then:

"It has to be dew."

"Dew? What a juvenile answer. You really should think before speaking, Suit. It's a riddle. Riddles are never so easy."

"Well then, what do you think it is?"

"Obviously it's rats."

"Rats?"

"Or bugs. Light makes them scatter, you know."

**._._.**

Peter sat back with a sigh and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He checked his watch and was both appalled and dismayed at the amount of time he and Mozzie had spent trying to figure out Neal's riddle.

"All right," he said with a sigh of defeat. "Who's going to be the bigger man and ask Neal for the answer?"

**._._.**

Neal had waited patiently for several hours and, sure enough, the man he was expecting showed up before him, fidgeting sheepishly where he stood.

"Well, Peter, fancy seeing you here." He was unable to mask his deviant grin and the gesture made the agent fidget with even more uncomfortable embarrassment. "How can I help you?"

**._._._._._.**

****AND NOW FOR OUR OWN COMPETITION****

**As for Neal's riddle, you can write your answer in a review. If you're right, I'll personally congratulate you (as personal as an email can be) and post your name at the beginning of the next drabble in this compilation with praise for getting the right answer. **

**For those of you who don't know, I'll also post the answer at the beginning of the next drabble too. **

**RULES:**** Don't go cheating by looking up the answer on the internet. Put some thought into it and don't be afraid to be wrong.**

**Again, the riddle is:** **At night they come without being fetched, and by day they are lost without being stolen. What are they?**

**All right people, let's see what you can do!**

**Hobey-Ho**


	3. Trickster

**The answer was stars.**

**All right. I was clearly too easy on you. So many of you got the right answer to the riddle. Such smart people. It makes me happy to know that such brilliant minds exist in this world. So, if you see your name below, it means you were a winner. **

**BunBunBabe  
Ultracape  
Staceydc328  
bobbi  
BrookMctirre  
Victoria Ackles  
kira666  
Logan'sDrover  
LeighJ  
Kanae Valentine  
Tanigi  
SkyeblueA  
MoonlitePrincez314  
smilee  
Amanda  
ArmedWithAComputer  
Roselani24  
Erica  
pluvial somnium  
general zargon  
aime lire  
heartfallen  
ACE11  
freakyalice  
Apollo199199  
cjhtorchwood**

**Congratulations. And kudos to the others who knew the answer but didn't submit one. Give yourself a pat on the back. Go on. You can't read this story until you do… … If you actually patted yourself on the back, I applaud you.**

**Now, READ!**

**._._._._._.**

Trickster

"This is Burke."

"Peter," Jones' voice sounded, completely serious. "It's Caffrey."

Peter stopped the paperwork he had been reviewing as his heart fell to his stomach. He dropped his pen and leaned forward in his chair to hold his head in his hand.

"What now?"

"The alarm sounded," Jones said in a not-so-surprised voice. "He's gone beyond his radius."

Of course he did. He was the legendary Neal Caffrey: art thief, document forger, and the epitome of rule-breaking. But since working alongside Peter in the FBI, Neal's habits of disregarding the law had ceased. He used his expertise to help the law instead of break it. So why had he gone and broken one of the most important ones?

"Dammit, Neal," Peter hissed under his breath. A snort of agreement sounded from Jones' end.

"I sent some men that were close by to check on him but they haven't reported back," Jones explained.

That _was _odd. "All right," Peter sighed as he stood up from his desk, "where is he?"

"I've sent the coordinates to your phone," Jones replied. "Doesn't look like he's moved yet, but you should get there before he does."

"I'm on it," Peter assured and grabbed his coat. "Thanks, Jones." Peter snapped his phone shut, shoved it into his pocket and left his office, pulling his coat on.

He hurried out of the building, his coworkers watching with slight skepticism but overall exasperation. They knew the look on Peter's face and they all felt the same as he: annoyed – though slightly amused – that Neal Caffrey once again broke one of the rules they worked so hard to enforce. It was somewhat comforting to know that Caffrey was a pain in the ass to more than just Peter. Only Diana watched Peter go with a smile and a shake of her head. Neal was the only person she knew that could ruffle the agent's feathers. It was actually entertaining to watch.

Peter trotted through the parking garage to his car and started it up. He quickly entered the coordinates from his phone into the GPS device in his car and drove out to the street.

Why did Neal have to go out of his radius? Now Peter would have to bring him back to the office. Then they'd both have to sit through Hughes' lecture as the man berated Neal for breaking the rule and Peter for not keeping a better eye on the ex-con. If they were lucky, they'd get another chance. If not, Neal would likely be sent back to jail, their partnership severed, and their friendship jeopardized.

"Why, Neal?" Peter asked to no in particular. Why would Neal risk all that? What was so important that he had to cross the invisible border that caged him within two miles of Peter? Did it have something to do with Kate? Did Neal just decide to make a run for it? No, he was smarter than that. He was too smart to do any of that. If he really needed something, he knew to call on Peter for help. At least, Peter thought Neal knew he could count on the agent.

And why hadn't the men Jones contacted first answer back?

With thoughts and questions alike swirling in his head, Peter pulled up to an expensive looking, high-class bar. Neon lights that read _The Black Widow _in curving letters blinked down at Peter invitingly as he got out of his car. He gazed up at the building in bemusement. What was Neal doing here?

Ensuring that his gun was tucked away within in easy reach, Peter walked into the bar. Booths lined the walls to his left and right with a catwalk down the middle. The furniture was all red with black spidery designs. Lamps hung low over the tables, the light pooling out of hourglass shapes. Rhythmic music trickled all around him as he approached the far wall where the bar table stood. Waitresses danced around him to deliver drinks, using the catwalk for easy access back and forth from the bar. Peter averted his eyes from them, thinking only of Elizabeth… and of how mad she would be if she knew he had come here.

Instead, he locked a hard gaze on the back of a man dressed in an elegant suit with a Fedora hat tilted slightly on his head of thick, wavy brown hair. He seemed to be the highlight of the party, surrounded on either side by men in similar attire – minus the ridiculous hats. The waitresses doted upon him, caressing his shoulders, and asking if he wanted another drink. Even the bartender seemed entertained by the young man, laughing with the others as he listened to the ex-con and mixed the drinks.

"Neal," Peter seethed in a sharp tone as he slapped a heavy hand on the ex-con's shoulder in warning.

Neal spun around in his chair to grin at Peter with his signature smile; his eyes sparkling, but not from the drink. "About time you showed up."

The men that sat at the bar with Neal also spun their chairs to look at the man that had interrupted their fun.

"Peter!" they exclaimed joyfully, lifting their glasses to welcome their coworker.

Peter blanched.

His eyes scanned every man's face to find that they were all FBI agents that worked in the White Collar division. So that's why they hadn't reported back. They were all drunk.

"Come have a drink," Agent Harris slurred with cheeks red from drink.

"Yeah, Neal said first round was on him," Agent Delton enthused as he slapped Neal on the back, his drink sloshing in his hand.

"What'll it be, boss?" the bartender asked, offering a smile for any men who associated himself with the head entertainer.

"What?" Peter asked, too stunned to say anything else. The men, his coworkers, laughed, the sound cacophonous and high as hands pounded the bar table and glass clinked together.

"Neal," Peter said, waving his finger to indicate that Neal was to follow him, "come here."

Neal stood and gracefully excused himself from the others. Peter placed a firm hold on the back of his neck and marched the younger man over to a quiet booth.

"What the hell are you doing?" Peter asked in a low voice with a sharpened glare.

"Making friends," Neal shrugged, oblivious to the daggers aimed at him.

"Why did you go past your radius?"

Neal smiled warmly at Peter. "Because you need a break. And I never did get a drink with you. You were too busy doing a stakeout, I believe." Neal lifted his brow pointedly at Peter to prove that he still didn't believe the story Peter had fed him as to why Diana had been at the agent's house.

"Did you know that the owner of this place is a widowed woman? Rich too. The rumor is that she killed her husband for the money. Hence the name," Neal explained lightly as a topic change.

"I don't care why they named this place," Peter shot back. "I care about you stepping out of your boundaries and getting me in trouble."

"I did this for you," Neal said with an expression void of sarcasm and his voice deep with sincerity.

Peter just looked at him with wide eyes.

"You've been working hard, maybe too hard," Neal said with an even tone, the truth gleaming brightly in those orbs of blue. "I thought you and the others could use a little break."

Neal smiled and placed an inviting hand on Peter's shoulder. "So, how about that drink?"

A slow smile tugged at Peter's lips, causing Neal's to grow all the wider. "All right, one drink," Peter finally sighed in defeat. "Just let me put in a call to Jones to explain what's happening."

Neal nodded. "So will that be Sex on the Beach or a strawberry daiquiri?" The deviant spark in his eye was back.

"I'll start with a beer," Peter smirked. Neal shrugged and offered Peter's shoulder a pat before returning to the bar table where he was greeted with a drunken chorus of cheers.

With a shake of his head, Peter went back outside and dialed Jones' number.

"Jones, this is Burke."

"Ah, find Caffrey already?" Jones asked. Peter could hear the smile in the agent's voice. "Should I send back-up?"

Peter shook his head with a chuckle. Sly Neal. So, it had all been part of the ex-con's plan the whole time. And Peter had fallen right into the trap.

"Yeah," Peter answered. "Better bring the whole team. Even Hughes."

Jones chuckled. "Sure thing, boss."

Peter pocketed his phone and returned to the bar where he was welcomed back with slaps on the back and a cold beer in his hand. He shot a smile at Neal.

The trickster tipped his hat.

**._._._._._.**

**I kinda liked that whole riddle thing. If you want, I can hold a competition with every new drabble. Winners will get their names posted at the beginning of the next story but I think I'll stop the email notices. It adds suspense so that you'll have to read the next chapter if you want to see if you were right. **

**If you're not interested in trying your luck at new and different riddles, then ignore this next part. **

****Riddle: What is lighter than a feather but something that not even the strongest man can hold for over a minute?**

**Rule is the same: NO CHEATING!**

**So, let's see if this one is any tougher. **

**Good luck and Hobey-Ho**


	4. Only Human

**The answer was Breath**

**Apparently my riddles are too easy for you people. All right, next one will be a toughy. For now, I shall recite all the smart winners that got the last riddle right. **

**Ultracape  
ShadowWolfDagger  
Hyper24 7  
Logan'sDrover  
SkyeblueA  
Tanigi  
not paranoid enough  
Victoria Ackles  
Kanae Valentine  
HuffynDK  
ArmedWithAComputer  
kira666  
Mourningdawns  
Writer's-BlockDP  
freakthegeek  
staceydc328  
aime lire  
QualityReviewer  
HopeI'mRight  
pluvial somnium  
bobbi  
freakyalice  
Fangirl666**

**Congrats to all and don't be expecting me to go easy on you anymore. So, read away and find the next riddle. **

**._._._._._.**

Only Human

He had a girl on each arm: a blonde on his right and a red on his left.

They walked down the street together, capturing attention from both men and woman alike.

The men – many of which who were holding shopping bags for their wives – did a double-take, their wide eyes watching the rhythmic sway of the women's hips, the long tanned legs with heeled shoes, the tantalizingly short skirts; the thin waists. They wore bright colors and their hair gleamed brilliantly in the bright sunlight, bouncing in the gentle breeze. They looked like goddesses with their full lips and velvety words dripping with honey. Their shirts were cut low and necklaces adorned both delicate necks.

And between the goddesses strode the god. He caught the eye of the women as he walked past. His fit and thin form was elegantly dressed in a dark suit. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his black tie loosened to expose his tanned throat. Beneath the attire, his muscles flexed as he held the arm of each woman. Chocolate brown hair was sleeked back under a fashionable hat. His teeth sparkled when he smiled but not as beautifully as his crystalline blue eyes.

The three walked down the street, absorbed in their own conversation and paying no attention to the world around them that had stopped in awe to watch them pass. The women laughed; the sound melodic as the man told his jokes and stories in a soothing and warm voice.

But no mortal can pretend to be a god for long.

A shrill beep sounded abruptly, shattering the atmosphere that separated the gods from the humans.

Neal Caffrey reflexively stepped back and the sound ceased.

"Was that your phone?" the blonde asked. She and her red-haired friend looked back at Neal quizzically.

Neal struggled for a moment before masking his dismay with his signature smile. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen. "I'm afraid I have to answer this call," he lied, looking up from the blank screen to smile apologetically at the two women.

Their faces fell with disappointment, the blonde sticking out her bottom lip in an alluring pout.

"But the coffee shop is just two stores down," the red-head pleaded, pointing one painted nail at their destination.

Neal's gaze shifted past her to the coffee shop. His new friends had told him about it and he had agreed to try it out with them. He could see the open door with the "OPEN" neon sign flashing invitingly in the window. He could smell the thick sweet scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods. They made his mouth water.

But while his mind urged him to drape his arms around the women's shoulders and guide them to the shop, a heavy weight on his leg prevented him from doing so.

The shop was past his radius.

"I'm sorry," he said sympathetically, the words containing a deeper sadness of which the women could never fathom. "You go on ahead. I'll see what this guy wants-" he waved the phone with a roll of his eyes for emphasis, "-and maybe I can meet up with you."

"Maybe?" the blonde asked with a flick of her hair.

"Work," Neal shrugged. "They say break's an hour but they don't mean it."

The women laughed in agreement. Neal flashed another smile, but the light didn't touch his eyes.

"Well then, we'll _maybe_ see you soon," the red-head said. She slid her arm through the blonde's and they turned, waving back to Neal with their fingers.

Neal tapped the phone and put it to his ear, waving back to the women as they walked past the barrier he couldn't pass. As expected, the phone was silent in his ear. There was no call to make, nobody waiting for his reply on the other side. He listened to the silence until the women sauntered into the coffee shop with a last glimpse at the man that watched them go.

Then he slowly lowered his hand and put the phone back into his pocket.

His eyes involuntarily drifted down to his ankle where he knew an anklet lay hidden beneath the pant leg. He had travelled to the end of his leash and his collar prevented him from going any farther. While he wasn't in prison anymore, he was still a caged dog, forced to obey the FBI when they called him.

Neal gazed at that coffee shop, finally allowing his mask to fall away, his sadness marring his features.

The people on the street glanced at him but their gazes didn't hover over the man for long. The god was gone. He was only human after all.

With a final sign, Neal turned away from the freedom that taunted him. His eyes downcast and dull, he started back into his cage.

"Neal?"

Neal looked up in surprise, his eyes instantly locking onto a man older and taller than him clad in business slacks and a light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A newspaper was under his arm.

"Peter?" Neal asked, slightly stunned. "What are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Peter Burke replied as he came to a stop before the younger man and ex-convict.

"I was…" Neal started but could think of nothing to say. The truth was that he was standing alone because he couldn't go pass his radius but that answer wasn't exactly appealing to him. "Nothing."

"Yeah right," Peter scoffed. "And I'm going to get a manicure."

"Purple would look good on you," Neal joked, a genuine smile creeping along his lips.

Peter chuckled.

"Where you headed?"

"Jones told me about a new coffee shop that opened around here," Peter answered. "I was going to try it out."

He grinned at Neal but his smile faded at the sight of the anguish on Neal's face. Neal blinked and replaced his mask in an instant.

"The shop's right over there," he pointed with a forced smile. "Can't miss it."

Peter examined Neal's face and the ex-con felt discomfort at the scrutiny, and at the fact that he knew Peter could find the truth past the façade Neal put on. And then a spark of realization ignited in Peter's eyes.

"Neal," Peter started.

"So, I'll leave you to that then," Neal interrupted quickly. "You don't need me hovering around while you drink your coffee."

Without another word, Neal strode past Peter, slipping his hands languidly into his pockets as he walked down the same street he had travelled up only minutes before. He wasn't laughing this time.

"Neal," Peter called and then the agent was walking alongside Neal. "I heard the bar down the street from work is under new management. Supposed to have a few new drinks in the repertoire. Want to see if they're any good?"

Neal was unable to suppress his smile. He glanced over at Peter. "What happened to coffee?"

Peter shrugged. "Not in the mood." He smiled warmly.

Neal returned the gesture, gratitude sparkling in his oceanic eyes.

"Sure thing, partner."

**._._._._._.**

**Sweet yeah? If you see any typos, please, **_**please**_** let me know so I can fix them. And I'm in college now so I might not be able to post so frequently. Just a heads up. **

**And now for that riddle. **

******** What goes around the world but stays in a corner?**

**Aha! Have I bested you? Or do you know the answer? Let's see what you can do. And NO cheating. I suppose I can't stop you if you do, but that ruins the fun. **

**Good luck, Hobey-Ho!**


	5. Thrill

**The answer was a (postage) stamp. **

**Stumped ya that time didn't I? Not as many answers this time. But I do appreciate the reviews you all left. All right, I may have been a little hasty in going to the harder riddles but many of you still replied with the right answer. And those people are:**

**Ultracape  
Elibidip  
SkyeblueA  
kira666  
HuffynDK  
ShadowWolfDagger  
Compellling Chrissy  
Logan'sDrover  
ZeeAwesomeSauceIsAwesome (quite a mouthful that one)  
Kanae Valentine  
Anonymous riddler (I hope you remember who you are)  
pluvia somnium**

**Many of you gave really good answers. And I mean that. It takes guts to guess even if you don't know. I like some of your answers actually, especially the one with the sun in the corner of kids' drawings. That one was cute. ^_^**

**Disclaimer: I did take words directly from the episode "Withdrawal." **

**._._._._._.**

Thrill

There was a strange sort of excitement to it.

The adrenaline surged through him with devious delight. He had forgotten what it felt like to bend the law; to sneak past said law and get away with it. He couldn't remember the last time he purposefully strove to rebel against the system he otherwise spent his time reinforcing.

He was the hunter, stalking his prey with deadly accuracy, hiding amid the shadows and enhancing all his senses to pursue. A sense of power came with the knowledge that he could jump out whenever he wanted; relish in the sight of startled faces gazing back at him, and then enact his justice against his unsuspecting adversary.

And at his side, guiding him through the steps of breaking and entering and further encouraging the thrill of the chase, was his partner in crime.

With Neal Caffrey leading the way, Peter Burke entered the bank where his prey hid. This was the ex-con's true environment and Peter could see why the younger man found such pleasure in it. There was nothing tying him down; nothing to reprimand him. There was only the freedom to do whatever he wanted.

Peter could see it in the way Neal moved: the way he crept along in absolute silence, the way his eyes were forever scanning his surroundings, the way his muscles tensed in preparation for fight-or-flight. Peter knew because he felt it too.

They had been partners for a while now but never before had he felt so close to the ex-con now. The bond of trust that bounded them never felt so strong before.

He could feel it when Neal looked back to make sure Peter was still there, when they sidled against the wall side by side; when they only needed to look at each other to communicate.

He could see it when Neal flashed him an excited smile; eyes sparkling mischievously, when the ex-con extended one hand to stop him, when Neal gazed at him with a sort of pride when Peter obeyed his silent commands.

They were partners in every sense of the word and trusted the other with unwavering strength because they had to. They had to trust the other to have their back. And Peter knew that Neal was looking out for him much in the same way that Peter kept his hand on his gun to protect Neal.

And Peter knew that if one of them were to be seen, the other would do everything in his power to get him out of danger.

But despite all this, the agent in Peter reminded him that they were indeed breaking the law and he was following the word of an ex-criminal.

"Were you ever going to share your alternate access route with me?" Peter asked with a voice low in warning despite the excitement that coursed through him.

"I just did." Neal countered casually. "Admit, Peter, we make a pretty decent team."

And they did. They really did.

"Bank-robbers," Peter snorted in disbelief at the prospect that this label now described him.

"I see you smiling."

**._._._._._.**

**Just what I thought was going through Peter's head at the time. He was really enjoying it. **

**And to pulvia, I'm working on some Peter whumpage but it's a bit harder than Neal whumpage. I'll post something though, don't worry. **

**As for your riddle: **

****** **I'm the part of the bird that's not in the sky. I can swim in the ocean and yet remain dry. What am I?****

**Maybe this one is a little easier while still keeping its ability to make you think. I'm glad to hear that many of you are enjoying the riddles. I am too. **

**So, good luck and I'll see you next time,**

**Hobey-Ho**


	6. To Walk a Mile

**The answer was the bird's shadow/reflection.**

**I praise those who replied with their answers. Wrong or right, I do applaud those that partake in the game. So, before I tell you how appreciative I am for your reviews, here are the winners:**

**MaraudingSnitch1314  
SkyeblueA  
Kanae Valentine  
general zargon  
Anonymous riddler  
shadow-L-chan  
smile  
mysterygirl220  
pluvial somnium  
Neeva Caffrey  
IPlayedInTraffic (now that's a real dangerous name)  
kira666  
aime lire (add a tap of the cymbals to that drumroll)  
galimeril  
ShadowWolfDagger (why am I not surprised?)  
LeoChick  
Sparky Dorian  
BunBunBabe (sorry about that)**

**Thanks to all who read, reviewed, faved, and alerted. I'm glad you like all my little drabbles. They – and the riddles, of course – are a lot of fun and I love seeing what my readers think of them. **

**Now, this little excerpt is from "By the Book." Neal's insight this time. Enjoy.**

**._._._._._.**

To Walk a Mile

For the first time since becoming a consultant for the FBI; for the first time since becoming the partner of a federal agent; for the first time since he put on his anklet, Neal Caffrey understood what it was Peter Burke was feeling every time he had to bail Neal out of another hazardous situation.

For the first time since he decided to enforce the law rather than break it, Neal Caffrey felt true fear.

Sure he had faced situations in which fear was the natural response. Sure he had met people that made his hair stand on end and sure he had had the heart-plummeting experience of having a gun pointed at him on more than one occasion. But none of that compared to the absolute fear that paralyzed him now.

Maybe he hadn't been afraid before because he had faith in his own abilities to charm himself out of a dangerous situation. Maybe it was because he had trusted in a certain agent to barge in at the last moment to protect him from the threat of potential harm. Maybe it was because he knew that the criminals he faced knew who he was and the force that supported him.

He had experienced plenty of life-threatening encounters and yet hadn't been afraid. He contributed this theory to the fact that Peter had always been right behind him or at his side. He had never needed the emotion of fear because Peter made him feel safe.

But he had never paused to consider what kind of fear Peter experienced in such situations in which Neal's life was threatened.

Only now did he realize the fear that went through the agent's mind.

He knew because that exact fear was going through his own mind. He knew because now it wasn't him at gunpoint, but Peter. And Mozzie.

Sitting on the sidelines, unable to go to his friends' sides where he belonged to face whatever adversary threatened them. Having to wait, able only to watch as the events unfolded for better or for worse. Forced to do nothing until armored agents were in place and ready to infiltrate the area.

It was torture.

All he could do was watch in the shadows as Peter burst into the room where Mozzie was already held at gunpoint. He felt fear turn his blood to ice and felt the heat of rage swell in his chest as the guns then pointed to Peter.

He was powerless; helpless to do anything other than watch as Navarro lifted his gun and aimed it at Peter's head, the resolution evident on his face that he wouldn't hesitate to fire. In that moment, true and agonizingly-painful fear gripped Neal as he struggled to breathe; unable to hear the command of Jones to move in over the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

Only when Navarro and his men were safely incarcerated and when Neal was allowed to enter the room did his heart start to beat normally and the constriction around his throat loosen. His hands shook slightly with relief as his muscles relaxed. He ran to Mozzie's side to find that that smaller man shook with his own fear.

With Mozzie calming at his side, Neal looked to Peter. The agent holstered his gun and offered a reassuring smile to the ex-con as he took the gun from Mozzie. But Neal saw something else in those deep eyes: a question.

_Do you understand?_

And Neal did. He understood perfectly what Peter felt every time Neal was in trouble.

And he knew one thing for sure. He didn't like it. Nor did he want to experience it ever again.

**._._._._._.**

**It was always Neal who was usually held at gunpoint. Just what I thought he was thinking when it was Peter in his place. He obviously didn't like it. **

**So, as to your riddle... Aime lire, if you'd be so kind as to start the drumroll please.**

****The more you take, the more you leave behind. What are they?**

**Not sure where this rates on the easy-to-hard scale but I suppose I'll find out judging by your replies. **

**As always, good luck and keep reading.**

**Hobey-Ho**


	7. Safe

**The answer was footprints.**

**My usual show of congratulations to you all you guessed right, guessed wrong, or simply admitted allegiance to neither. And thank you to the many reviews as well. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I get all warm and fluffy inside. **

**Anyway, here are this – what is it, week's? – winners.**

**Kanae Valentine  
SkyeblueA  
NayahReidWhumper xD  
ShadowWolfDagger  
Neeva Ccaffrey  
Pghj2005 (now that's original!)  
white collar fan (short, sweet, and definitely to the point)  
BleakRememberance  
smilee  
galimeril  
bobbi  
pluvial somnium  
Anonymous riddler (we meet again)  
freakthegeek**

**I do just want to mention another really good answer which can also be true. And that is… staceydc328's answer of SMILES! She has a point in which smiles are contagious. ^_^**

**So, on to the next chapter I suppose. **

Safe

It was a haven in the midst of controlled chaos. It was a reprieve from the demanding world and the stress that came with it. It was a sanctuary for those who needed a place to rest; a refuge where the opinions of the world didn't matter. It was a shelter from the distrustful stares, the noise of business, and the responsibility to work even when sleep beckoned.

It was a safe.

Neal came here for that safety. Whenever the room was empty, he was already lounging on the couch. Often he would stretch out with his feet crossed at one end and his head resting on the other, his hat over his eyes and the ghost of a serene smile on his lips. It was quiet and he could think. He came here when thoughts of Kate made his hands shake to the point when he couldn't hold a pen. He came here when he felt the cold stares of the agents around him, glaring at him when his back was turned; muttering complaints that a convict didn't belong in the FBI. But there were no disdainful stares here. Instead, he could always count on a lopsided grin and a nod of the head to make him feel like a member of the team. He could be in peace.

Mozzie came here for that safety. It was the first place he went to because he didn't trust anywhere or anyone else. He could see all corners of the room and he had already investigated to ensure that there were no bugs hiding around. He knew the exits and felt relatively safe within the borders of the four walls. It was also higher above the rest of the floor so that he could watch all the agents below through the glass. It was quiet and the view out of the window over the city was almost as nice as the view from Neal's room at June's place. He was also accepted here despite his paranoia and circling logic that often got on the nerves of the owner of the office. He could be in peace.

Jones came here for that safety. Whenever the stress of work made his head ache, he would close himself within the office and just take a deep breath to relax. He could share a joke and a coffee here without the demands of work bearing down on his shoulders. He knew he could come here for a quiet rest if he needed it. If files overloaded his desk he knew he could come here without limit to sort through his thoughts. He could be in peace.

Diana came here for that safety. She came here because she knew she'd be treated as an equal; as another agent on the force rather than someone labeled as different because she chose to love a woman rather than a man. She often joined Jones to avoid the work piling on her desk. That and the couch was comfortable. Coffee tasted better here where she could gaze over her beloved city in the quiet the room offered. She came here when she needed a smile, a joke; an encouragement. This rest got her through the day. She could be in peace.

There was one other thing that made this office the place that stray and overworked souls gravitated to. Or rather, someone.

Peter Burke.

He accepted all and kicked no one out. Sure he often sighed, rolled his eyes, or questioned why he had to be bothered when he was trying to work. But despite his protests, he would turn away from his computer and paperwork to talk or listen to the one that needed it. He smiled, he joked; he encouraged. He drank coffee with anyone who brought him a cup. He allowed his couch to serve as a temporary bed. He accepted those deemed odd and different because he didn't see them as odd or different but as just another partner in his quest to enforce the law. And when quiet was all that the wanderer needed, then he just sat and worked, his typing fingers a soothing sound.

"Speak of the devil," Clinton Jones said suddenly as the door to the office opened and the owner came in.

Peter Burke took one looked at the wanderers that had wandered into his office. All four of them lifted their glass of wine to greet him, smiles beaming on their faces.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked.

"Drinking wine," Neal Caffrey answered casually.

"Care to join us?" Diana Barrigan asked invitingly, a smile curved behind her glass.

"It's a good year, actually," Mozzie added as he examined the bottle. "One of Neal's best."

"But why are you here?" Peter asked, indicating his office; the office that served as his place to work. Not to hold social gatherings.

The four exchanged a loaded look, smiles still on their faces. Then they all looked at Peter.

"Cause you're here."

Peter examined each partner in time before his own smile of defeat tugged his lips up. "All right," he sighed and moved to bring his chair over to where his friends sat.

Jones handed him a fresh glass. Diana passed him a tray of pastries she had brought for the occasion. Mozzie passed the wine bottle to Neal and Neal poured half a glass of sparkling wine into Peter's glass.

"What should we toast to?" Peter asked.

"To Peter," Neal smiled, lifting his glass.

"To the Suit," Mozzie agreed.

"To Peter," Diana and Jones chimed.

"To partners," Peter finished.

They touched their glasses together and drank.

Peter looked at his visitors with a proud and gracious gleam in his eye. He laughed with a shake of his head and added his glass to the other four that waited to be refilled.

**._._._._._.**

**Cheesy? Yes**

**OOC? Maybe**

**Good? You tell me.**

**Was originally going to be a fic on why Neal liked Peter's office but then I figured, everyone likes Peter's office, so I'll put them all in. Hoped you liked it and I'm anxiously awaiting your reviews/opinions. **

**And I'm sure you're anxiously awaiting this week's riddle. **

****What belongs to you but others use it more than you do?**

**I don't think this one's too hard but then, I know the answer. So, good luck. It's easier than you may think. **

**See ya next time.**

**Hobey-Ho**


	8. Special Order

**I don't like this riddle. There're too many answers. The original was your name but upon reading all your reviews, I saw that it wasn't the only one. So, I'm adding all of the answers that could be used to answer the riddle because they are also right. **

**The answer is name, phone number, heart/love, kindness, and help.**

**Congrats to all those that answered correctly. And thank you for all your lovely compliments and encouragements. **

**ShadowWolfDagger  
Logan'sDrover  
Ultracape (welcome back)  
IPlayedInTraffic  
Kanae Valentine  
Pghj2005  
SkyeblueA  
govgal  
peace4people (thank you so much!)  
MaraudingSnitch1314  
staceydc328  
general zargon  
LeoChick (nothing like a riddle to wake someone up)  
galimeril (and your three hole punch too)  
mel  
Anonymous riddler (maybe one day we can see it on tv. Doubtful but maybe)  
Heather McDonald  
BleakRememberance  
pluvial somnium  
Rainchecker (welcome to the club. Your jacket's in the mail)  
morgo7kc  
MusicDefinesUsAll  
theFirelives (glad you caught up)  
BubBunBabe  
Blank (that's not the name but there was no name for the review)**

**._._._._._.**

Special Order

"Peter," Neal sighed piteously, "is the blindfold necessary?"

"Yes," Peter answered smugly, "and you'll wear it without complaining."

Neal Caffrey released a heavy sigh but didn't protest. Besides, since he was wearing the blindfold, he was completely dependent upon Peter for guidance. If Peter were to grow frustrated or annoyed with the ex-con, the agent could easily lead Neal into a desk or door, guiltless.

Neal instinctively raised his hands to feel the air in front of him at the thought. He didn't want to be known as the blind idiot who ran into a desk.

"Relax," Peter assured, a voice coming through the dark beside him. "You're not going to run into anything if that's what you're worried about."

"You instill confidence," Neal countered sarcastically but lowered his hands slightly.

"Don't you trust me?" The voice was light and joking but Neal felt a greater weight in the words.

"I'd trust you more without the blindfold."

"Blindfold stays on."

Neal grumbled under his breath but kept taking cautious steps forward. He could feel Peter's presence beside him and found that his body reflexively gravitated towards the agent, reaching out for familiarity in the dark. Several times, he bumped up against the agent and had to stumble away again with growing embarrassment.

"This is getting old, fast," Neal muttered, quickly losing patience. He didn't like being – literally – in the dark. "Are we there yet?"

"Almost," Peter answered and Neal felt the agent's hand slip onto his back, his hand a reassuring pressure between Neal's shoulder blades.

And then his jerky footsteps calmed and smoothed. He walked with more ease; his usual grace restored with the knowledge that Peter was beside him and guiding him safely to whatever destination awaited them.

"Here we are," Peter announced. He stopped and took hold of Neal's shoulder to stop him. Neal obeyed. He could hear whispering voices around him and subconsciously sidled closer to Peter. Being unable to see can bring out the paranoid side of a person.

"All right, Neal," Peter announced proudly. "Take it off."

Neal eagerly obliged and pulled the cloth away from his eyes. He blinked hard against the sudden light as Peter moved away from him to stand before him. Neal's vision returned to find Peter standing beside a small table currently serving as a pedestal. Several other White Collar agents massed behind the pedestal; among them Jones and Diana with expectant grins.

Neal only took a moment to register who was around him before his eyes fell upon his surprise gift.

"Ta-da!" Peter beamed, waving his hand over the brand-new espresso machine.

Neal gawked at the machine. Sleek and elegant, it gleamed in its silver décor. A glistening black nozzle extended towards an empty and waiting coffee mug. Buttons sparkled invitingly in the light; a red dot indicating that it was alive and ready for its order. It was certainly a top-class and expensive piece of art.

Neal lifted his eyes to Peter in awe. "Peter."

"Go on," Peter enthused, coming to take his place beside Neal. He slapped his partner on the back encouragingly. "Try her out."

Neal approached with a silent reverence and delicately typed his order. The machine purred as coffee cascaded into the mug; steam hissing quietly. When it had completed its task, Neal accepted the steaming cup of coffee and inhaled, relishing in the sweet, thick scent of fresh coffee.

He touched the cup to his lips and took a sip, the creamy liquid oozing down his throat, warm and soothing. Neal mumbled a sound of content and Peter nodded approvingly to the waiting agents.

Neal lowered the cup and locked crystalline eyes onto Peter. "You got this… for me?"

Peter shrugged casually. "Technically, your winnings from your little card game did. But you earned it. And it was about time we got some decent coffee in here."

"I though you hated the steam sound."

"I can put up with it. As long as you get my cup for me, we'll call it even."

"Peter." It was all Neal could say; a wide grin on his face.

"You're welcome," Peter replied accordingly. "But you are going to have to share."

Neal looked around him at all the expectant faces, lust for delectable coffee glimmering in their eyes.

"Please," Neal said, waving his hand to the machine.

He and Peter were abruptly shoved aside as a crowd with empty coffee mugs assembled around the machine, its purr resounding in the air.

Neal looked at Peter and the agent returned his gaze. Neal lifted his mug to Peter in thanks and drank heartily as Peter chuckled at his side.

**._._._._._.**

**Neal wanted an espresso machine, so I gave him an espresso machine. It's the only way he's going to get one. **

**As for the blindfolded part, I had some experience with it during a team-building game thing. When I was the one that was "blind" I kept bumping into my guiding partner. What Neal felt is exactly what I felt during the exercise. You know, besides the whole Peter part.**

**Anywho, hope you enjoyed. And I'm glad you're liking my little drabbles as much as you do. Your words make me happy. ^_^**

**Well, enough of that fluffy/mushy stuff. Here's your riddle.**

****What Building has the most stories?**

**So, I bid thee good luck and farewell until next time. **

**Hobey-Ho**


	9. Transformation

**The answer was library or book store, or the Library of Congress if you wanted to get real technical.**

**And here I thought that riddle would be harder. Once again, I have underestimated your deducing and problem-solving power. I seem to keep doing that. Take that as a compliment. It means you guys are smart.**

**And those smart people include (but are not limited to):**

**BunBunBabe  
staceydc328 (I don't understand the whole coffee thing either. Oh well)  
HuffynDK (glad I could help)  
Amthoon  
SkyeblueA (see, you did know)  
govgal (close enough)  
ShadowWolfDagger  
Ultracape  
aloha94  
nexteightlives  
fanfiction-freak  
BrilliantGreenEyes (Now that you've joined the club, I suppose I'll have to get you a jacket too.)  
nebbyJen  
galimeril  
mel  
Kanae Valentine  
Writer's-BlockDP  
Anonymous riddler (I may not drink it but I sure know how the write it, huh?)  
bobbi  
Demoness Blaze  
kira666  
MusicDdefinesUsAll  
wolfeylady (good shot)  
epicpickleninja  
Katie  
raven  
AVENite2009  
smilee  
aime lire**

**And I'd like to personally thank ArmedWithAComputer for the donut. Mmm… Chocolate glazed, my favorite. **

**._._._._._._.**

Transformation

He wasn't sure when it happened.

The details were still a little vague as to how it happened.

But he was glad it happened.

He didn't remember the exact day it was when Peter offered him a folder explaining the case instead of ignoring the ex-con that stood at the edge of his vision in the corner.

He didn't remember when the two had started to walk side by side through the office rather than Peter leading the ex-con through the desks.

He didn't remember what time Peter received the double finger point from Hughes and it included the ex-con as well.

He didn't remember on what case it was that he was voluntarily asked to come along, maybe even check out "the van," without having to point out that he was a part of the case and needed to be included.

He didn't remember after which case Peter had patted him on the back or gripped his shoulder with pride that the ex-con had pulled through.

He didn't remember when his façade faded away and his smile became genuine.

He didn't remember how it had happened that he had ended up at Peter's house and had been invited in and not kicked out.

He didn't remember how it had happened that Peter had ended up at his room at June's and had been invited in and not kicked out.

He didn't remember when it was that Peter ran towards him with concern evident on his face.

He didn't remember why Peter had shrugged off one of the ex-con's secret "appointments" and agreed to let it pass only because it had been the right thing to do.

He didn't remember when it was that Peter had stood next to him as if he were just another member of the team.

He didn't remember when he was finally accepted as Peter's partner; when the bond of trust had formed.

He wasn't sure when the transformation began: the transformation from ex-con and agent to partners.

At least, out loud he wouldn't acknowledge the date, place, or time when the transformation had occurred and he certainly wasn't going to give away such answers so easily.

No, they were all his secrets; ones he treasured more than any work of art.

Because he did remember. He remembered everything; every moment that had slowly melted the label of ex-con and agent away to be replaced with Peter Burke and Neal Caffrey: partners.

And he wasn't soon to forget.

**._._._._._._.**

**A little fun fact before your riddle. I went onto a "Love Calculator" website and put in Neal Caffrey and Peter Burke's names just to see how compatible they would be – and possibly to put any slashes to rest. Turns out they are 39% compatible. A relationship is possible with sacrifices and work but not likely. **

**When I put in Matt Bomer and Tim DeKay, they were 59% compatible. Maybe because Matt is such a great singer and gets Tim in the singing mood too. Speaking of singing, there's a lot of videos of Bomer and DeKay dancing and singing on YouTube. Check 'em out. **

**Just something I thought you should know. Not saying it's true (since it's a random percentage taken from a random website), just interesting. Now for your riddle.**

****What turns everything around but does not move?**

**Chances are this isn't going to be very hard for you but let's just see. **

**Only one more episode left for this season. But don't worry, I'll keep good ol' POP going. Heh, pop. Good thing I didn't name it "Partners of Odd Paradoxes" are something equally cockeyed.**

**Anywho, good luck and I'll see you all next post. **

**Hobey-Ho**


	10. Stopped

**The answer was a mirror. **

**I know that a few of people put gravity or the sun's gravity as their answer, but that answer is a bit of a stretch. When the riddle says "around," I'm pretty sure it doesn't mean in a circle like the sun's gravity does. Sorry, I can't bend the result this time. I'm still glad you reviewed and gave the riddle a go. But the names are of those that answered with "mirror."**

**ShadowWolfDagger  
Anonymous riddler  
pluvial somnium  
kira666  
MusicDefinesUsAll  
pghj2005 (I just might do Peter's POV. It's a good idea. I'll dedicate it to you when I make it.)  
xblackcat21x (welcome to the world of riddles)  
aime lire (keep those riddles comin')  
Sparky Dorian  
Rainchecker (a spoon is close enough. It still casts a reflection. Thanks again for the great review)  
the-vampire-act (thanks again for the cake!)  
bobbi**

**I know it's been a while since my last post. I try to post a new story every week. And since I haven't posted one about "Company Man" yet, here it is. Set in the climatic part of the episode: Peter's near-death!**

**(Next is a "Point Blank" story.)**

**Disclaimer: the italicized parts were taken directly from the dialogue of the story.**

**._._._._._._.**

Stopped

"_His heart's stopped."_

As soon as the paramedic spoke those three words, Neal Caffrey lost all control.

He lost control of his shaking hands, his shuddering breaths; his pounding heart.

He lost all perception of time. The paramedics moved too slowly and Peter paled too quickly.

He lost the use of his voice. The words refused to come out and he could only mouth his friend's name over and over.

He lost much of his hope as Peter's listless form was lifted onto a gurney and Neal's heart plummeted to his stomach.

He lost his calm composure to his disheveled hair, wrinkled suit, and missing smile.

_His heart's stopped._

Neal gazed down at that familiar face, now forlorn because of its pale color. It didn't feel right that those eyes weren't open and gleaming with life; that that mouth wasn't cocked in a lopsided grin; that those strong hands were limp and cold.

Neal gazed down at Peter Burke and couldn't imagine living in a world without him.

Without Peter, Neal would be alone again, surrounded by people waiting for the opportunity to take advantage of him, to betray him.

Without Peter, there would be no friend to stand beside him against the odds; no one to worry about him; no one to wonder where he was or take the initiative to search for him when he needed to be found.

Without Peter, Neal would have no reason to continue working with the FBI. Peter was the only one protecting him and with his guardian gone, Neal would be tossed back into jail. And this time, no one would come to his rescue.

_His heart's stopped._

And everything else seemed to stop with it.

All that Neal could see; all that that he cared about was lying in front of him, unmoving.

Peter's existence had simply ended. His breathing had stopped. His heart had stopped. His life had stopped. He was no longer Peter Burke. He was just the empty shell of a man Neal had once called a partner.

Time itself had stopped.

And then the world came roaring up as time resumed and crashed down onto Neal as he was shoved aside by a paramedic.

The shouts of people bombarded Neal's ears as emergency lights flashed all around him. People ran back and forth, footsteps echoing cacophonously in the air. Neal was pushed away from Peter by scurrying medics that circled the gurney.

One man lifted a syringe into the air and plunged it over Peter's heart, pushing the clear liquid into the agent's body. Neal could only watch with a held breath as the seconds ticked by.

And then Peter's chest moved. The agent inhaled and released a groggy moan. Neal's heart leapt up to return to its place in his chest where it fluttered with excited joy. Peter's eyes flickered open as he shook his head as if he were merely clearing his head from a wild hangover. His gaze shifted around the faces hovering over him until his eyes landed on Neal.

He smiled as he was wheeled away towards the ambulance and the waking Kent. Diana shot a relieved smile at Neal and walked after her boss, Peter's badge ready in her hand.

Neal lifted his face to the sky in silent thanks, blinking back the tears that had threatened to fall as his smile returned to his lips.

Peter was alive.

And the world moved on, thankfully with one very important life still in it.

**._._._._._._.**

**I know it's not my usual comedic fic with the light-heartedness, but this was a serious episode. At least it had a happy ending, right?**

**I do want to make one quick shout-out. Thanks to all of you and your reviews, this story has received 200+ reviews and has been added to a very special community where only fics that have reached 100+ reviews can enter. Thank you for putting this story up on a pedestal and I'm glad you are all enjoying it. **

**And as an extra, one reader has decided to illustrate the fics that make up this compilation. I'll let you know when the prints are done so that you can check them out of you want to. Thanks again,** **siriuslynotserious.**

**So, on to your riddle.**

****I'm where yesterday follows today, and tomorrow is in the middle. (Look familiar aime lire?)**

**Good luck and thanks to all,  
Hobey-ho**


	11. Afraid

**The answer was a dictionary.**

**A few people said this was a little tough. And I'm sure many of you are getting mentally exhausted with school – I know I am. But some managed to push through and get the right answer. Congratulations. **

**Pghj2005  
Ultracape  
Kanae Valentine (don't worry about it, welcome back, and thank you so much!)  
kira66  
the-vampire-act  
BrilliantGreenEyes (your review made me "d'aww)  
MusicDefinesUsAll (course I didn't kill Peter. If I did, no more Bromance O.o)  
raven  
Anonymous riddler (Loved the second answer: dyslexic's calendar. Ha!)  
aime lire (WOOT!)  
staceydc328  
Cece  
freakthegeek  
xblackcat21x  
Fedora (awesome name!)**

**I meant to post this chapter yesterday (Tuesday) to replace the lost episodes but I got home so late from college and went straight to bed. Classes haven't even started yet and I'm already losing my free time. As long as I post one chapter per week though, that's ok. I'll strive to do so. I'm not sure what it's going to be like once class starts…**

**This is another serious/angsty excerpt from the season finale, "Point Blank." Because we need another one. I swear, after this, I have a really non-serious, fun, and fluffy fic. I've been wanting to post it all week but have retained from doing so. I promised a "Point Blank" fic first. **

**._._._._._._.**

Afraid

Two hearts were pounding.

Two chests were heaving.

Two voices were wavering.

Two guns were shaking.

Two men were terrified.

Neal Caffrey heard Peter's voice through a fog of rage. His focus was locked on the murdering son of a bitch in front of him; the barrel of a gun level with the gaze of Garret Fowler.

Fowler, however, proved to be Neal's foil. He stood firm, his shoulders squared with the courage to meet Neal's eyes down the barrel of the gun. And then he closed his eyes, ready and accepting of the revenge Neal was struggling to enact.

But Neal couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger.

Peter called him again, pleading. Neal latched onto the voice. It was the only thing he knew was right; the owner the only one he could trust.

Neal tore his eyes away from Fowler and turned his head to face Peter Burke.

The agent had lost all calm composure. His eyes were wide and pleading, unspoken words begging Neal to stop. He was breathing too swiftly and Neal could see his hands trembling; a gun clasped tight between them.

And Neal saw fear.

Peter was scared.

Neal could see the thoughts swimming in the agent's eyes. Peter didn't want Neal to pull the trigger. He didn't want Neal to throw everything he had worked so hard to attain away. He didn't want Neal to veer off the straight path Peter had set him on. He didn't want Neal to get arrested and sentenced for the killing of another man. He didn't want to be the agent to do it.

They both knew that if Neal pulled that trigger, Peter would have to act as the FBI agent that he was. He would have to render Neal harmless and that meant that he would have to raise the gun he held, aim it at Neal, and fire. Then he'd have to be the one to testify against Neal, ultimately sending his partner and friend to prison for life.

And he didn't want to do that.

And as Neal gazed into Peter's eyes, looking through those brown windows to see the thoughts that swam in the agent's head, Peter likewise searched Neal's gaze. For once a door is opened, it may be stepped through in either direction.

And Peter saw fear.

Neal was scared.

The younger man's brow was furrowed, his crystalline blue eyes cold and watery. The gun aimed at Fowler's head shook in his quivering hand. His hair was disarrayed, much like Neal's own composure. All charm and languid calm was gone. What was left was a confused and breaking man. And Peter didn't want Neal to break.

Neal's own eyes held a silent plea. He wasn't a killer. They both knew that. Neal was afraid to pull the trigger for much of the same reasons Peter was. He didn't want the blood of another on his hands. But Neal was struggling. Rational thought was in a losing battle against the raw rage seeking revenge for the death of his beloved.

Neal and Peter looked at each other for several breathless seconds that seemed to last so much longer. And what they saw in the other was their own reflection.

They were both afraid.

"This isn't who you are."

Peter's words rang clear and true and cut deeper than any knife ever could, slicing neatly through the haze that clouded Neal's mind with rage. Slowly, the fog dissipated as the inferno of hate subsided to a dull spark in Neal's chest that refused to go out but had agreed to be controlled.

Neal lowered the gun.

Two sighs were released.

Two shoulders dropped with the lessening of tension.

Two guns were put away.

Two men were grateful for the other's actions that had prevented an unfixable act from being completed.

But only one man was led away in handcuffs.

**._._._._._._.**

**Only the spoken words were taken from the actual episode. And the part about the open door that could be stepped through in either direction I took from an episode of "Doctor Who." **

**Yes, yet another one-shot of the confrontation/stand-off between Neal and Fowler. I know that there are already a lot but I just had to write my own. **

**As I said before, next chapter will be comedic again. **

**And your weekly riddle: **What happens once in a lifetime, twice in a moment but never in a thousand years?****

**You guys got this! Good luck!**

**Hobey-Ho**


	12. Umbrella

**The answer was the letter "M"**

**First off, thank you for your reviews. They always make me happy to read and I'm glad you liked the story. And now here are the winners of the latest riddle. Excellent deduction, my dear readers!**

**aime lire (there!)  
BunBunBabe  
Anonymous riddler (and thank you very much for you review. Made me happy.)  
raven  
asdfjkl  
Pghj2005  
pluvial somnium  
Writer's-BLockDP  
Mycroft R Holmes (Holmes!)  
morgo7kc  
kira66  
RainyJ.T (wait no more. The update is here)  
3rdgal  
SkyeblueA  
smilee  
Anonymous Riddler's Fan  
becutt (you're new. Welcome!)  
Sparky Dorian (poignant works.)  
MusicDefinesUsAll (here's the fun one now)  
HyperMint (yay!)**

**So, as promised, I have posted a happy, fluffy, cutesy fic to give you a bit of a mental vacation from those last two angsty fics. It is a bit longer than the others but I hope you like it. And I made sure to post it on Tuesday this time. I want to make a habit of posting every Tuesday but no promises. **

**._._._._._._.**

Umbrella

Neal Caffrey flicked his pencil aside, picked up a ball made out of rubber bands, and reverted to throwing the ball into the air and catching it.

But he was still bored.

He caught the ball once more and then his gaze shifted back to the empty office that served as the work place for his partner and friend, Peter Burke. He wasn't surprised to find that it was still empty. The agent still hadn't returned.

Without Peter, there was no one worth pestering or battling wits against. There was no one to talk to about the current case and no one to wave a folder at him to signal the start of a new one. There was no one to get coffee with or to ask to join him for a beer. There was no one to give advice to about another female problem that needed to be fixed.

Without Peter, there was just nothing to do.

Neal allowed the rubber-band ball to roll free from his fingers and totter towards the edge of the desk. He released a heavy sigh to express his losing battle with boredom. He couldn't stop his gaze from returning to Peter's empty office despite the fact that his mind knew the agent wouldn't be there.

As a last desperate attempt to distract himself, Neal stood from his desk and ambled to one of the large windows that looked out over the city. It was early afternoon and the streets were clogged with cars. The buildings around the FBI building were alight with office lights while people scurried through the halls or sat at their desks, working diligently: something Neal didn't have the patience for at the moment. The sky above was a faded blue and thick gray clouds drifted lazily over the city. The sun looked unnaturally dull and cold and the trees below indicated that a wind was whipping through the streets.

"Caffrey," a voice called with a huff of annoyance and a hint of expectance as if the owner was not surprised that Neal wasn't working.

Neal turned, an innocent expression already on his face; his crystalline eyes wide with feigned surprise. He grinned. "Jones. What's new?"

"Shouldn't you be working on that embezzlement scam?" Jones asked, crossing his arms over his chest in the same scolding fashion Neal had seen Peter perform countless times before.

"Yeah, about that," Neal started with an apologetic smile as he slipped his hands into his pockets with a shrug. "I was actually waiting for Peter. I have a few things to tell him about the owner of the museum that I think he should know."

"Peter's not here. You can tell me," Jones said in a no-nonsense tone.

In attempt to distract Jones from the trail that pointed to Neal's lie, Neal sought refuge in the topic change that would hopefully answer his own question, "Where is he?"

Jones took the bait. He smiled coyly. "He lost the bet."

"Bet?"

Jones leaned in closer as if his reply was a secret that only Neal was allowed to hear. "Peter, a few agents, and I made a bet about which Livingstin sister stole the Giacomo Balla painting from the Museum of Modern Art in our last case. Loser had to buy everyone else coffee and lunch."

"It was Sarah Livingstin, right?" Neal asked.

Jones nodded. "And guess who lost the bet."

"Peter."

Jones smiled and straightened. "Good thing he decided not to ask for your help on that case otherwise poor Phillips would have to get the sandwiches _and_ the coffee."

"Mike lost too then?"

"Yep. And now he has to get the sandwiches. Peter drew the straw for the coffee. He should be on his way back by now." Jones checked his watch for confirmation.

"Did Peter take an umbrella?"

Jones looked up at Neal in bemusement but the ex-con had his back to him and was looking up at the sky.

"Don't think so," Jones answered with a shrug. "Why?"

Neal didn't bother to turn around. "It's going to rain."

Before Jones could ask where Neal received his information, the ex-con was already walking to his desk to get his coat and umbrella.

0o0o0

Peter Burke glared up at the sky and at whatever entity resided there with an annoyed disdain.

It was sunny and warm an hour ago. But no, the weather just had to change while he was outside instead of being safe and comfortable in his warm office. He just had to decide to walk to get the coffee shop rather than trickle along in congested traffic.

Gray clouds swarmed above him and grew thicker and darker by the minute, blocking out the sun's rays and the warmth that came with them. The once cooling breeze turned crisp and cold, pulling at his hair and suit and swirling leaves and various articles of trash around his feet.

Peter hugged the coffee trays closer to his chest in an attempt to ward of the chilling cold that bit through his suit. He could hear the liquid sloshing in the eight cups and dared Fate, or Destiny, or whatever to just try and spill coffee on him.

Not a single drop escaped the paper cups.

No, Fate and Destiny had a different prank to play to get Peter wet.

It started to rain.

Peter looked up in disbelief as the first droplets of water fell from the sky to land on the earth below. It didn't take long for the ground to get speckled with wet spots that were identical to the ones that now adorned Peter's suit. And it took even less time for a shower of water to cascade down from the mocking clouds to soak all that stood unprotected beneath them.

Such as Peter.

Peter released a low stream of curses under his breath as he hitched up his shoulders against the prickling rain and increased his shuffling pace to a stiff trot. He wrapped one arm around the second tray of coffee cups that wobbled precariously on top of the first and held it steady, securing it against his chest to avoid the contents from spilling.

The damned forecast had said it would be sunny. Then why the hell was it raining? Well, he had a few things to say to the weather reporter. And he had the badge to make his threat valid. Being an FBI agent had its perks. Scaring the weather reporter was one of the less used ones.

Peter's rage simmered as the rainfall intensified and soaked Peter completely through. His suit was dark and heavy with water and his hair was plastered flat against his head. He had to keep blinking to remove the droplets that clung to his eyelashes and trickled down into his eyes. Despite the warmth of the coffee, he was shivering and his shoes sloshed against the sidewalk.

At this rate, he would have to call in sick by four o'clock.

Peter lifted his head and blearily gazed through the curtain of water to lock his eyes onto his destination. The FBI building loomed in view, tall and dark amid the rain. At least he was almost there.

But wait…

Peter squinted against the rain and could just make out a figure moving towards him.

He blinked. While other people scurried into the nearest building, shivered beneath awnings, or tried to hail a taxi that was already occupied, this figure was definitely walking straight towards Peter. At least this person had been smart enough to take an umbrella outside. The rain fell feebly off the shield over the figure's head and splattered pathetically to the puddled sidewalk.

Peter slowed warily. It wasn't normal for someone to walk right up to a stranger on the sidewalk. Confrontation like that – and to an FBI agent – never boded well. And his damned hands were full. If this guy meant bad news, Peter had little defense against him. Unless the stranger wanted a face full of hot coffee.

"Peter," the stranger enthused and waved what looked like to be a folded umbrella in the air.

Peter straightened with a heavy sigh and a small smile. He knew that voice. He always heard that voice. He doubted he could ever get that voice out of his head.

"Neal," Peter replied as the ex-con closed the distance between them with a graceful trot, "What are you doing out here?"

Neal flashed his signature smile. "Jones told me you lost a bet."

Peter rolled his eyes and pushed past Neal to continue his way to the FBI building. Just what he needed: the suave ex-con mocking him for losing a bet about a stolen painting. To make matters worse, a sharp wind now angled the rain to hit Peter fully in the face.

This just wasn't his day.

"Hold up, partner," Neal called and danced around Peter to stand in front of the agent again, blocking the way.

"Neal," Peter growled in warning, "Not a good time."

"Just wanted to give you this," Neal said, keeping up his smile. He offered the second umbrella to Peter. "Thought you could use it."

Peter looked at the folded umbrella that promised shelter from the unrelenting rain to the dry man that smiled invitingly back at him from under his own protecting umbrella. He couldn't help but smile back, gratitude seeping into the gesture to replace his previous scowl.

Peter started to shift the coffee trays in his arms to free one hand to grab the umbrella but Neal was one step ahead of him.

Neal quickly opened the second umbrella – all the while staying dry under his own unwavering umbrella – and extended the umbrella over Peter. Instantly, the onslaught of water ceased around Peter.

Peter released a sigh of relief and shook his head to dispel the water that still clung to his hair. "Thanks," he said with a sincere smile.

Neal smiled back but he wasn't looking at Peter. His gaze was directed slightly above Peter's face and his smile struggling to maintain its shape against the laughter that threatened to erupt from his lips.

"Your hair –" Neal started to say, his voice wavering with his barely controlled laughter.

"Say one word and you're back in prison," Peter warned and started forward. Neal fell in step beside him, his footsteps falling in sync with Peter's.

"I don't think you're in any position to threaten me, Peter," Neal taunted as he kept the umbrella steady over Peter's head.

"Oh yeah," Peter challenged, shooting a patronizing grin at the ex-con. "And why not?"

"I'm holding the umbrella."

Peter shut his mouth and didn't say another word; forced to swallow his pride as the ex-con beamed triumphantly beside him.

**._._._._._._.**

**I kinda wish it would rain here. Monday was a scorcher and now it's all humid. Oh well. **

**Yes, a little Peter teasing in this one. The poor guy. And I can just picture Neal running around in the rain and not getting a single drop of water on him. Cause he's that awesome. **

**Feels good to smile after those last two fics huh? Did for me. Hope you liked it. **

**And hope you like the riddle too: **A box without hinges, key or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid. What is it?****

**I don't know how this riddle rates on the difficulty factor but I have faith that you can figure it out. **

**Good luck!**

**Hobey-Ho**


	13. Smile

**So much for a chapter a week. So sorry I'm late on the posting but midterms are damn good at distracting me from my writing.**

**Anyway:**

**The answer was an egg.**

**Well, apparently most of you are all avid readers who have at some point or another read – or watched – "The Hobbit." To which I say, yes, this riddle did come from the book during the exchange of riddles between Golem and Bilbo Baggins. You're all so smart! Yes you are. Congratulations on having a good memory or just really good riddle-solving skills. **

**So let's see who got the right answer (and then a few people who didn't get the right answer but still made some great guesses that I found either true, cute, or funny.)**

**Kira66  
aloha94  
not paranoid enough  
ShadowWolfDagger  
Ultracape  
bluedragon1836  
morgo7kc  
MusicdefinesUsAll  
Pghj2005  
SkyeblueA  
Writer's-BlockDP  
mel  
aime lire  
Anonymous riddler (I'm currently waiting for a plot bunny to show up with the prompt that you suggested.)  
Mycroft R Holmes  
criminal-is-my-name**

**And for the other riddlers I just wanted to applaud for such original answers.**

**3rdgal with the answer of Lucky Charms!  
pluvial somnium with the answer of the Brain-Box, aka the cranium.  
staceydc328 with the answer of the heart.  
MichaelaTheUchiha with the answer of a cardboard box in which memories are held.**

**._._._._._._.**

Smile

"Caffrey."

Both Neal and Peter looked up from the file they had been reviewing. Neal's eyes scanned the office floor that resided just below the raised level of Peter's office for the owner of the voice that had called him. A nod from Peter directed his gaze to a balding man in a crisp white t-shirt, large thick-rimmed glasses, and a tag clipped to his front pocket that classified him as a visitor.

"Neal Caffrey," the man called, turning in slow circles in the middle of the White Collar Division office with a clipboard clutched against his chest.

Neal looked away from the searching man and turned to face Peter with a pleading pout. "Do I have to?"

Peter set his face into a scolding stare that dissuaded any hope of being persuaded by the plea. He straightened with determination and started towards the office door.

"We all have to, Neal," he chastised lightly in a parental tone that subtly ordered Neal to obey him.

Neal straightened as well with a heavy and piteous sigh. "And here I thought that having a required picture day died in high school."

Peter offered him a sympathetic smile but opened the door. "Even grown-ups need their pictures taken." He leaned out of the doorway. "He's in here," he announced to the thoroughly confused hired photographer.

The man snapped his head up to look at Peter, adjusting his large glasses with one finger.

Peter looked back at Neal and waved at the ex-con to expose himself. Neal swallowed with another pleading look that expressed his discontent of having to have his picture taken. Peter shot down his protest with a threatening stare and Neal came up to stand beside him without another word; eyes cast down with a dejected frown.

The photographer fixed a beady gaze on Neal and then leaned back with satisfaction. "Your turn, Mr. Caffrey," he declared and then shuffled off to the corner room of the office that had been blocked off to serve as the photo booth.

"What's wrong with you?" Peter asked with a shake of his head. "It's just a picture. Besides, I thought you like getting your picture taken."

"Yeah, maybe with a model or by someone who doesn't look like a librarian and school principal mashed into one." Neal countered indignantly.

Peter chuckled. "Think of this as an opportunity to take a better mug shot," he teased as he tapped Neal's shoulder in encouragement. "Something that shows you as you for once."

"You make it sound like I'm not me," Neal smirked with mock chagrin.

"You usually aren't," Peter shrugged. Neal couldn't argue with that. Very rarely was Neal Caffrey, Neal Caffrey. Lately, he'd been Nick Holden more often than not.

"Just, be you," Peter said with a gentle smile and pushed Neal out of his office. "And don't worry. I won't go solving this case without you."

"You better not," Neal replied jokingly. "I want that file exactly where I left it when I come back."

Peter just tucked his hands into his pockets with compliance and leaned against the doorway as he watched Neal descend the stairs and head towards the photo booth.

_Be me, huh?_ Neal thought to himself. But what him should he be? What smile would he wear for the camera? He had many to choose from; many he had learned and attained over the years.

There was his mask of a smile. He wore this when thoughts of Kate and her murderer filled his head and threatened to either break him with grief or force a course of action from him that would likely hurt whoever was closest to him at the time. His mask was put in place when he needed to be polite or when he didn't want others to see his pain.

There was his sly smile. He wore this to throw a pursuer off the track that he was hiding something. It was a relaxed smile that feigned innocence and seemed to say, "Who, me?"

There was his alluring smile. He wore this to mingle with the opposite sex, usually when he needed to extract information. It was a charming and suave smile that radiated confidence and grace.

There was his triumphant smirk. He wore this when in the company of a criminal that had just realized he had lost. It was smug and somewhat mocking. It was a smile that portrayed his winning of a game.

There was his poker face smile. He wore this usually while participating in a game of cards. It misguided his opponents by making them believe that he was simply an ordinary man trying his luck at the game. It made him appear harmless and gave his opponents the impression that they could easily beat him. It was overly-friendly. It was a smile he used to hide his royal flush.

There was his fierce smile. He wore this during the thrill of the hunt: whether he be the hunter or the hunted. It was one of anxious excitement.

Then again, he didn't have to smile at all. He could just sit on the chair, stare dead-center at the camera without so much as moving one facial muscle, and get up again after the click of the camera and the flash of the bulb. It would look like any other mug-shot. But this option was less appealing than any of the others.

"Please have a seat, Mr. Caffrey."

Neal blinked to see that he was standing in the makeshift photo booth. A single chair waited to be used along the wall where a plain gray sheet had been draped to serve as a neutral background. A camera stood mounted in the center of the room with two lamps each pointed at two sheets of white tarp behind it. The balding photographer fiddled with the camera.

When Neal made no move to further enter the room, the man looked up impatiently at Neal from behind his thick glasses.

"Please have a seat," he said again in a tone that signified his irritation of having to have to say the phrase repeatedly.

Neal shuffled resignedly into the room and plopped down unceremoniously into the chair. He was out of time. He needed to decide what smile to use or else his new picture would have him looking at the camera in indecisive distress. He wanted his picture to look good. He needed to choose.

The man positioned himself directly behind the camera and bent forward to look through the eyepiece.

"One," he started.

Neal fidgeted.

"Two."

Alluring smile. That was him. That would work.

"Thr-"

"Wait," a new voice interrupted.

Neal looked away from the camera to see who had stopped the shot. The photographer – noticing that his subject had looked away and had no intention of looking back – straightened with a heavy sigh to follow Neal's gaze to the door leading into the small room.

Peter trotted in. "Did you take the picture yet?" he asked, looking first at Neal and then to the photographer.

"Trying to," the man mumbled.

"Good," Peter said with relief.

"Peter?" Neal asked quizzically.

Peter turned to face him and offered his partner a warm smile. "You forgot something," he said and held up Neal's fedora.

Neal blanched and was speechless for a moment; his eyes wide with surprise. Peter had stopped the shoot to give Neal his hat?

Peter walked up to Neal and dropped the hat onto the consultant's head. "I told you to be you," Peter explained. Neal tipped the hat up out of his eyes to meet Peter's. "Well, this is you. This is Neal Caffrey."

With that said, Peter stepped back behind the photographer to watch his friend take his picture. Neal followed him and then his gaze locked onto the camera. The man had already taken his place behind it again and angled it to include the hat.

"Let's try this again," he grumbled.

"One."

Neal adjusted the hat quickly and sat straight.

"Two."

Neal shot a quick glance at Peter. The agent just smiled at him and then mouthed a single word.

_Smile._

"Three."

Neal flashed a smile and the camera clicked and the lamps blinked with a brilliant light for a second and then went dim once more. The man straightened with a huff of approval as Peter leaned forward to squint at the camera and of the photo taken of Neal.

His brow rose with surprise. "Nice," he commented.

Neal hopped off the chair and moved to stand beside Peter, his eyes going to the camera to see his picture. His own brow rose.

"Best mug shot yet," Peter praised.

And it was.

And Neal realized that he had gained a new smile to add to his arsenal of smiles.

It was his sincere smile. His eyes seemed to sparkle with a happiness he didn't know was there until he had seen it himself. His smile wasn't too big and certainly not forced. It was a proud smile, pleased and content. He wore this only in the agent's presence. It was the smile he reserved especially for Peter. It was genuine. It was him.

0o0o

"One."

Peter tried very hard not to look at the man behind the photographer. He tried very hard not to notice the mocking signs the man used to make fun of the photographer behind his back.

"Two."

Peter tried very hard to keep the shape of his smile; to keep it professional, calm, and serious. But, damn it, now the man was hunched over much in the same stature as the photographer, his eyes squinted and his clawed finger tapping furiously at an invisible button.

"Three."

Peter tried very hard but he lost. He laughed out loud and the camera flashed as the shot was taken.

"Damn it, Neal. Get out of here," Peter commanded, his voice still wavering with his laughter.

Neal shrugged innocently, flashed his sincere, signature smile and sauntered out of the room.

"Sorry," Peter apologized as he lowered back into his seat. "Can you take it again?"

**._._._._._._.**

**Sorry if Peter seemed a little too OOC but I like how this fic turned out. And guess what? It's raining over here like crazy. Guess I got my wish after all. **

**Super Special Shoutout! Remember when I told you that a reader was going to illustrate ****the fics that make up this compilation? Well, siriuslynotserious has finished the first one. It's titled "Partners_of_Paradox_Illustration_1" (just get rid of the underscores.) and you can find it on her Deviantart profile under the name PhantomPrincess123. Thanks again!**

**And the riddle: **I am six letters. When you take one away I am twelve. What am I?****

**Hope it's not too hard. Thanks always and forever for your reviews. (And if you see a typo, let me know.)**

**Hobey-Ho**


	14. DIT

**The answer was a dozen(s).**

**Guess this one was a little harder but I still congratulate those that tried their best. I also thank you for all the wonderful reviews. They always make my day a little brighter. And sorry again for a late post. More midterms. Almost done though. And by that time it will be time for finals. Woot… **

**Anyway, our winners of the last riddle include, but are not limited to:**

**brokenclaw  
kira66  
3rdgal (I'll give you this one)  
Pghj2005  
Sparky Dorian  
extraordinary geek  
Ultracape  
Anonymous riddler  
staceydc328  
Mycroft R Holmes  
Fedora  
vesperwhisper**

**I really liked Photophobic's answer of eighty. Your thought process was very precise and numerical rational (if that makes sense.)**

**I got the answer "eleven" a lot but I couldn't figure out how that could be a possible answer. If one of you who answered as such could offer me your thought process behind the answer (and I find it rational) I'll repost to include your name amongst the other winners.**

**So, read away cause I bet you're baffled as to what the title could possibly mean.**

**._._._._._._.**

DIT

The door was already open before Peter Burke could knock a second time. June was standing before him, her worried eyes sparkling with a sudden hope as she released what Peter presumed to be a held breath in relief.

"Thank goodness you came," she said in a flustered manner as rested one hand over her heart. She moved out of the doorway so Peter could enter. He did so with a solemn nod.

"I left the office as soon as you called," he said as the door closed behind him and June took her place beside him. "Has he started yet?"

June shook her head, the faded brown curls bouncing with her distress. "No, he's still packing his tools."

Peter's concerned eyes flickered up to the ceiling where the muffled sounds of movement filtered down; his lips pursed in thought. "Why did he suddenly decide to do this?" he asked, the tone of a questioning FBI agent creeping into the words.

June followed his gaze but hers lingered longer. "I'm not sure. I mean, I'm sure he's noticed what needed to be done and just decided to deal with it himself."

"What a surprise," Peter muttered. He and June stopped at the base of the stairs.

"Peter."

Peter looked down obediently to meet the older woman's dark eyes. She held his gaze with a powerful stare. "It's dangerous for him to be doing this alone."

Peter understood the unspoken request and nodded his compliance. "I'll stop him."

This brought a wry smile to June's lips. "You know as well as I that once Neal has his mind set on something, he'll carry through despite what you say."

Peter returned the smile, warm with sympathetic agreement.

"If you can't stop him," June pleaded, "help him."

Peter sighed as his shoulders sagged submissively. "I know. I will."

With his promise hanging in the air, Peter started his ascent up the stairs.

It didn't take long to find the man he was looking for. All he had to do was follow the sounds of pacing footsteps and the heavy thud of metal being dropped on the ground and the metallic clink of metal hitting metal.

The trail led him to the third floor of June's massive home. He entered a bare room designated for holding what could only be June's late husband's workshop. What had most likely been housed in the basement or lower level of the house now filled the small room. A large workbench took up most of the far wall. Toolboxes lined a third of the left side of the room and the right side had larger instruments hanging on the wall or placed lovingly in the corner. Cabinets stood beside the toolboxes with unused paint cans resting on top. It seemed Byron had been quite the Do It Yourself kind of man. The room served as a memorial to the hard-working husband.

But now another man occupied the room. He moved with quiet confidence as if the room was as much his own as it was Byron's. He traveled back and forth from the toolboxes, pulling open the thick drawers and fishing around inside its contents before coming out with some sort of tool or other. His acquired items were place carefully in a paint-stained burlap bag.

"Neal," Peter called in the parental tone he reserved only for the ex-convict who also happened to be his consultant, partner, and friend.

Neal Caffrey turned to face Peter and, for a moment, he looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then his expression brightened with his signature smile, making his crystalline blue eyes sparkle.

"Hey, Peter," he replied chastely, dusting his hands on a pair of faded blue jeans. A gray shirt hung loosely from his shoulders. "What brings you here?"

Peter folded his arms over his chest with a tilt of his head and a reproachful, lopsided smirk. "June called me."

Neal's smiled flickered guiltily for a moment and then was back in place. He turned away from Peter and crouched down to inspect his bag of tools. "And what'd she tell you?"

"What you're getting yourself into."

Peter noted the wince that hitched up Neal's shoulders slightly and knew he had pinned the ex-con. Neal wasn't going to charm his way out of this one nor was he going to be able to pull the wool over Peter's eyes. The slumping of Neal's shoulders in defeat proved that.

"No need to get yourself involved," Neal advised nonchalantly, his voice light.

"Neal," Peter said as he moved into the room. "I don't want you doing this alone."

"So what," Neal asked as he stood with the bag in his hands. He slung it over his shoulder and staggered slightly under the weight, "you're going to be the one to do it with me then?"

Peter shrugged. "Sure."

Neal hesitated and the glimmer of surprise in his eyes didn't go unnoticed by Peter.

"I already knew I couldn't talk you out of this one. So I figured I'd just help you. If you can't beat them, join them, right?" Peter offered his friend a coy smile. "Plus, if I'm with you I can at least ensure that you're not going to go and get yourself hurt."

"Please, Peter," Neal scoffed with a roll of his eyes. He tried to walk past the agent with his usual grace and confidence but the heavy bag was making him tilt and weave drunkenly. "It's not like I haven't done this before. I think I can handle it by myself."

Peter followed after him deliberately. "If you do it alone, you'll never get it done."

"Peter, I thought we've already established that 'never' is not in my vocabulary," Neal shot back over his shoulder.

"Apparently neither is 'envisage'." Peter dodged around Neal and barred his path. "You need to think about this, Neal. What happens if something goes wrong?"

Neal paused and lowered his gaze in thought. He mulled over Peter's words for a moment and then glanced up at the agent. "All right," he said with reluctant decision and perhaps slight relief. "You can help. You can start by helping me carry this thing."

Peter smiled with smug triumph – which Neal took every precaution to ignore – and eased the bag out of Neal's hands. It was heavy but the tough and sturdy Peter Burke was built better for heavy-lifting than the slim and sleek Neal Caffrey. Neal offered the agent a grateful smile and then kept moving down the hall, Peter falling in step beside him.

The two walked side by side quietly to another room that proved to be used infrequently but still cared for. Very few things resided in this room: just a cabinet, a bed, and the other common characteristics of a spare bedroom. However, everything was currently covered with clear plastic tarp. Beams of wood lay in wait on the floor and a ladder loomed in the middle of the room under a dark patch of ceiling.

Peter placed the bag of tools down next to the wood and straightened with a stretch. Neal knelt down and rummaged in the bag.

"So, what's the plan?" Peter asked expectantly, eyeing the wet stain on the ceiling disapprovingly and preparing himself for the job he and Neal had set out to do.

"Remove the damaged wood, fix the leak, and repair with new wood," Neal answered as he stood with a bar-like tool and hammer in his now gloved hands. He shot an arched brow at Peter as his lips curved up into a devious grin. "You can still back out now if you want. No guarantees this is going to be quick and painless."

Peter just shook his head and moved to the ladder, steadying it with his hands for Neal. "Nope. You're my responsibility. Can't have you falling off this thing of nailing yourself to a piece of wood."

Neal released a curt laugh as he stepped up to the ladder. "Don't jinx me. Now what's the real reason you're here helping me fix a leak and not being at your own house?"

"We're partners," Peter shrugged as if it was obvious. Neal paused at the top of the ladder. "I'm going to help you with whatever you decide to do. Permitting it's legal, of course."

Peter looked up at Neal. Though he couldn't see the ex-con's face, he was sure that there was a smile there.

At last, Neal chuckled and dug into the wood with the metal bar. The wood groaned and splintered on contact but Neal gave it no time to recover as he stabbed at it again. It took a few more jabs and strategic twists of the bar before Neal was finally able to pluck out the last remaining nails with the hammer and the beam of wood detached from the ceiling.

He clasped the wood tightly in his hands and started down the ladder with assertive steps, assured that he would not totter and fall because Peter was standing guard.

But he was over-confident.

Thinking he was in the clear, Neal took another step back with the assumption that he was already on the last step and that his foot would touch solid floor. Instead, he felt empty air as his foot slipped past the last step. Already unbalanced because of the beam of wood he held, Neal tipped backwards and fell. He cringed and waited for the jarring impact to hit his spine.

Peter was faster.

Rather than feeling the hard collision of the floor, Neal felt something softer bump against his back and head as two strong hands slid under arms and halted his fall.

Neal let out a held breath he didn't know he had been holding and looked up to flash a grin at the man that had caught him.

"Good catch, partner."

Peter shook his head with his own sigh as he gently hauled Neal to his feet. "Honestly, what would you do without me?"

Neal shrugged as Peter took one end of the wood and they carried it to an open space on the floor. "Die a horrible death from a splinter." he answered with mock fear.

Peter chuckled, earning a smile from Neal. They lowered the wood to the floor.

"Well, so much for Do It Yourself." Neal commented as he wiped his hands on his jeans.

"I'm partial to DIT over DIY anyway." Peter replied as he returned to his place at the foot of the ladder and Neal ascended up the steps again to remove another piece of water-damaged wood.

Neal looked down at Peter quizzically. "DIT?"

The agent just smiled up at him.

"Do It Together."

**._._._._._._.**

**Haha! Thought I was going in a totally different direction there didn't you? The main inspiration for this story was to deter you the reader from the main plot by making you think Neal was going to perform some sort of heist that Peter was willing to help with. Bet you guys had no idea that what they were really doing were fixing the ceiling. And I bet that you had no theory as to what the story was going to be about based on the title. **

**Just wanted to trick you all. Consider it a Halloween trick with a little treat at the end. A little cheesy maybe but you gotta love the fluff.**

**Riddle time: ******What has roots that nobody sees. Is taller than trees. Up, up it goes. And yet never grows?****

**HAPPY HALLOWEEN!**

**Hobey-Ho**


	15. Close Quarters

**The answer was a mountain (or skyscraper cause that makes sense too). However, a family tree cannot be an answer because it does grow. Sorry.**

**Yes, you smart people you, this was another riddle from ****The Hobbit.**** The book had a lot of good ones. Don't be too surprised if you see another one. So those of you who remembered or have great deduction skills and posted your correct answers, you're names are below:**

**mayaswelltry (and you hath succeeded)  
araydre  
Pghj2005  
the-vampire-act (welcome back! And my hobey-ho comes from Pendragon, not Shawn. I didn't even know Shawn used it. Learn something new every day.)  
Ultracape  
ArmedWithAComputer  
asdfjkl  
kira66  
general zargon  
Mycroft R Holmes  
Sparky Dorian  
aloha94  
vesperwhisper  
smilee  
Ananymous riddler (I guess a petrified tree works in a literal sense. And thanks for the review.)  
Kate**

**I'm glad you enjoyed the last fic and it seems most of you were thoroughly fooled. I might make another teaser like ****DIT**** sometime. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews and the good lucks for my midterms. They'll come in handy I'm sure. Good luck on all your midterms too and remember to take a break every now and again: maybe read some fanfiction, watch some tv, or do something that allows your mind to shut down for a while. Hell, sleep in. You deserve it. **

**Anyway, thanks again and read away.**

**._._._._._._.**

Close Quarters

"Damn it, Neal. How do you keep managing to get yourself into trouble? And did you really have to get me involved?"

"Hey, you're the one that followed me. It's your fault you're in this with me."

"I only followed you because you get into trouble whenever I let you out of my sight."

"Congratulations. You kept me in your sight. Now we're both stuck here."

"Why do I even bother? I should know by now that things never go according to plan."

"Finally. I've been telling you that for weeks."

"Then, things didn't go according to plan because of you."

"Peter, do we really have to play the blame game? Now?"

"I see nothing wrong with pointing out the truth at any opportune moment that presents itself. Now seems like the perfect time."

"Temper, temper. Can we use are inside voices please?"

"No, actually we cannot. I'd prefer to use my outside voice if you don't mind."

"I kind of do. Seeing as I'm tied to you and all. You're a little too loud."

"Of course I'm being loud! I want to be found so that I can get away from you and out of this damned closet!"

"That hurts, Peter. Right here… I'm pointing to my heart in case you're wondering."

"I wasn't."

"Oh."

Peter Burke sighed.

It was dark, cramped, and stuffy in the small closet that currently served as the prison for the ex-convict and the FBI agent. It didn't help that the two had been tossed under some old jackets laden with dust that trickled down from the fabric to irritate Peter's nose whenever the captives moved.

Peter tried to shift to the side in an attempt to find a more comfortable sitting position in order to stretch his legs. Instead, all he managed to do was disturb another wave of dust that cascaded down upon him in a cloud.

He sneezed.

"Bless you," Neal replied dutifully.

Peter ignored him with a disgruntled grumble. It was Neal's fault he was in this position to begin with. He could have been enjoying the party downstairs with everyone else: bubbling champagne, delectable food, and soothing music to sway to. Instead he was sitting with his knees pressed up to his chest, his hands bound by a rope knotted to the rack that supported the jackets above him, and the infamous Neal Caffrey tied against him back-to-back in the confined spaces of a closet.

His partner's hands were also elevated and secured by rope tied to the rack. Rope coiled around their chests and had been pulled tight, making it hard to draw in a deep breath. The knot was indistinguishable amid the rope in the dark and Peter had no sharp object with which to free his hands with. There was no room for his legs to kick out either.

They were totally and explicitly trapped.

"Damn it, Neal." Peter repeated angrily after a long moment. "Why'd you have to go and leave the main hall? Don't you know never to follow a shadowy figure away from witnesses?"

Peter felt Neal shrug against him, his friend's shoulder blades rubbing uncomfortably against his own. "I thought I could handle it. If there's one thing I do know, it's that Calvic is a coward. I thought if I cornered him, maybe flash my badge, he'd just give me the sculpture and walk away."

"You thought wrong," Peter snorted as he twisted his wrists half-heartedly. "And you don't have a badge."

"In the eyes of a paranoid convict, a consultant's badge is just as threatening as the Shield, and I hadn't expected Calvic to hire goons with guns."

"'Expect the unexpected.' It's a famous quote for a reason."

"So is 'patience is a virtue.' Will you _please_ stop moving? It's obviously not helping and it's only making it dustier in here."

"Well, forgive me for trying to get us out of here."

"Relax. Diana will figure out that we're missing. She'll find us, eventually."

"I don't want 'eventually,' Caffrey. I want 'now.'"

Peter jerked on the rope that bound his hands. The rack rattled in protest as a fresh coating of dust alighted upon the agent and consultant, resulting in both erupting into a fit of coughing that left them both breathless; chests straining against their bonds.

They sagged against the other, the top of Neal's head resting just slightly below Peter's. They breathed in a pattern so that when one exhaled, the other inhaled. It helped ease the breathing process by allowing the rope to yield to one moving chest at a time to avoid constricting two rising chests at the same time and restraining oxygen intake. As their breathing calmed and the dust settled, quiet set in and the distant sounds of clinking glasses and the soft echo of music drifted into the closet.

"Hey, happen to have any tricks up your sleeve?"

"Tricks involve the sleight of hand. My hands are currently preoccupied. You?"

"Fresh out. Should we try standing again? Maybe we can find something to pry us loose."

The reply came in a resigned and matter-of-fact voice, "The door is locked. The rack is set in place and won't budge. And last time we stood up, all we got was a mouthful of jacket, some sore ribs and a bump on the head."

Two sighs resounded in the close quarters of the closet.

Peter's eyes roamed around the inside of the closet again, his eyes adjusted well enough to see the wood of the door on his one side where light trickled though the space at the bottom, the wall of the closet on his other side, more wall in front of him, the jackets above him, and a glimpse of Neal behind him. Any possible item with which to cut himself loose had been taken by Calvic's "goons" along with the sculpture Peter, Neal, and Diana had set out to retrieve.

"Crap."

"What?"

"My leg fell asleep."

Peter chuckled. The two of them were trapped in a closet for who knew how long and for who knew who much longer, no one knew where they were, the bad guys had escaped with the prize, and Neal was complaining about a numb leg. Typical.

Peter would have teased him but his own legs started to prickle with the feeling of the constriction of blood flow and his feet slowly melted into nothing. He had to wiggle his toes to remind himself that his foot was indeed still connected to him.

Peter inhaled deeply for another sigh but stopped short when Neal tensed against him with a soft gasp as the rope pulled tight across his chest.

"Sorry," Peter said hurriedly as he released the held breath prematurely.

"S'ok," Neal mumbled as he shifted against Peter to loosen the rope.

It was quiet once more as Neal relaxed again against Peter as if he wasn't concerned with their current predicament and was merely taking a well-deserved break.

Then, "Hey."

"Yeah?"

There was a pause. Peter turned his head but could only see dark wavy hair. "Neal? You ok?"

"Thanks."

"What?"

"For following me. Thanks."

Peter just stared at the little of the back of Neal's head that he could see.

"If you hadn't, I might have ended up here alone and possibly not in one piece. Because you were there… well, Calvic doesn't like to mess with law enforcement on account of his belief in Karma. That's why we were tied up and put away instead of beaten and thrown out a window."

Neal turned his head and a sparkling orb of silvery-blue light met Peter's. Neal flashed a grin, his teeth a pale white in the dark room. "So thanks for getting into trouble with me."

Peter returned the smile and faced his section of the wall again. "That's what partners do. I got your back."

"And I have yours. Quite literally actually."

Neal rolled a shoulder for emphasis, his shoulder blade hitting Peter's in a friendly manner. Peter retaliated in mutual agreement.

Suddenly, heeled footsteps sounded outside the hall and the floor reverberated with the sound as the footsteps stalked closer.

"Hey!" Peter shouted with desperate joy. "We're in here. Let us out!" Neal helped make noise by slamming his leaden feet against the wall in front of him.

The footsteps stopped before the door and the doorknob jiggled. It went still again but the flickering sounds of someone picking the lock filtered through. A moment later, a lock slid out of place with a loud snap and then the door was thrown open.

Peter and Neal blinked out into the lit hall and then raised sheepish gazes up to a rather startled and confused looking woman in a short black dress.

"Hey, Diana. Care to join us?"

**._._._._._._.**

**Most of this stuff comes to me at about 10-11 o'clock at night when I just want to write something. After the first sentence, the story takes off and I allow my fingers to type away until they're done and a story is made. **

**Hope you liked it and I hope you do well on this next riddle:**

********When you have me, you feel like sharing me. But, if you do share me, you don't have me. What am I?****

**I really like this riddle and I hope you'll like it too once you figure it out. I've never given you a hint before so I don't think I should start now. I don't want to accidentally give away the answer. Good luck!**

**Hobey-Ho**


	16. Alias

**The answer was secret. (Although I do like the answer of money like in a charity too.)**

**Man you guys are good. But then, I've come to expect that. So, here are the winners:**

**kira66  
reader  
morgo7kc  
Sparky Dorian  
RainyJ.T  
vesperwhisper  
NayahReidWhumperXD  
the-vampire-act (what a coincidence. Maybe, I Am Your Professor…?)  
Mycroft R Holmes  
Anonymous riddler (I don't think USA will take writings from a fangirl but it's a nice thought.)  
cjhtorchwood  
Kanae Valentine (Don't feel bad, I'm just glad you do review)  
HyperMint (hmm… a Peter fear… interesting idea. I'm intrigued.)  
Fedora  
Love2RR **

**Well I hope you all had happy Thanksgivings and hopefully made it back unharmed from any Black Friday shopping you might have done. Here's one more Black Friday deal: one free riddle with today's special offer of a White Collar fic! Hope you enjoy. And don't worry. There's no limit to this offer.**

Alias

"Peter."

"I don't want to hear it, Neal."

"But I haven't even said anything yet."

"The fact that you're here means that you have something to complain about. Am I right?"

"Maybe."

"Then I don't want to hear it."

"Just listen. I usually don't complain about this kind of thing-"

"Then don't start."

"No time like the present. Anyway, I usually don't complain but this time I can't just lie down."

"What, Neal? What's the problem?"

"The alias I have to use during our assignment."

"That's what you're worried about? What's wrong with your alias?"

"The name."

"What about it?"

"Do I look like a Gunther McArthur to you? What kind of person has the name Gunther McArthur anyway?"

"Your alias apparently."

"I'm serious, Peter. I don't think I can complete my assignment with this name. I'll be cringing every time someone calls me. I'll blow our cover."

"You're the famous Neal Caffrey. You can pull off any identity. Are you saying your acting skills aren't up to par?"

"I'm saying I don't like the name. Get me a new one."

"Out of my jurisdiction."

"Jurisdict- You're my handler. I'm your CI. Doesn't that count?"

"Not according to the rulebook. You work with me. The higher ups decide what assignment we do under what names."

"Come on, there's always a loophole."

"In case you've forgotten, we're the FBI, Neal. We make sure there are no loopholes."

"Can't you pull some strings?"

"No."

"Anything?"

"Sorry, Neal. As of tomorrow your name will be Gunther until the completion of our assignment."

"All right. I didn't want to do this but you leave me no choice."

"You know I don't take kindly to threats and I can't be bought."

"No threats. No bribes. Just the truth."

"And that would be…?"

"I know the alias you'll be working under."

"I don't think informing me of my alias is going to-"

"Slevester Nostein."

"… How 'bout we go see if we can talk with Hughes? He might be able to do us a favor."

"Sounds good, partner."

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Gunther. Let's go."

"Right behind you, Slevester."

**._._._._._._._.**

**I remember back in high school that I had to do an assignment in which I had to tell a story using only dialogue. So, I wanted to try a White Collar dialogue story and came up with this. Dialogue really can express a lot. But I still do love the details. **

**Disclaimer: ALL CHARACTERS'S ALIASES ARE ENTIRELY FICTIONAL. (I just chose odd names for the aliases. I did not mean to tease or offend. If your name happens to be Gunter McArthur or Slevester Nostein, no ill will is meant against you. It is purely coincidental that I chose these names.)**

**What time is it…? Riddle Time! (No, I don't watch the show. I find it disturbing.)**

****A man walks into a bar. What does he say?****

**I know. This is a little juvenile and kind of cheesy but I love it. It's a favorite of mine that I still use to make people laugh. Good luck.**

**Hobey-Ho**


	17. The Sentinel

**(Ok, this chapter is going to look very long but I assure you, half of the length is coming from the comments in bold like this. Just an FYI so you don't look at the little small scroll bar on the right and think, "Oh crap, this is one long chapter.")**

**The answer was "OUCH" and other varying degrees of such. But if you had a convincing story behind a different answer, I accepted that as well.**

**Now some of you had great answers that went above and beyond a simple answer of "ouch." Some of you added a whole scenario. Some of you just had some really funny answers. So, along with the names of the winners, I'll be sharing the answers that I found most entertaining/amusing to share with my fellow readers because, come on, we can all use a laugh. Especially for the people who just finished finals (like me!)**

**ArmedWithAComputer  
NayahReidWhumper xD  
BrilliantGreenEyes  
general zargon  
mel  
happy thanksgiving  
mayaswelltry  
KebaKira  
kira66  
MichaelaTheUchiha  
Writer's-BlockDP  
Mycroft R Holmes  
vesperwhisper  
the-vampire-act  
pluvia somnium  
Tinnuial  
siriuslynotserious**

**Sparky Dorian****:** **Perhaps something that would not be fit for the ears of small children... ;) But we'll go with "Ouch."**

**Brokenclaw****: I always annoy people with this one… "ow that hurt." **

**Kathryn Marie Black****: He says "Gimme a beer!" or "Dumbledore is dead!" **

**SakuraBlossomQuiet1****: "ouch" or "oh my god the pain!" or "oh, my face my face!" some general expression of pain/agony...**

**RainyJ.T****: He says hi. While swaying drunkenly and lifting a glass of beer. Or more like dumping beer all over the counter. Why does he have beer when he just walked in, you ask? Simple. He is a ninja and he snuck in, stole some beer, and walked in (already drunk) to keep up appearances. I think that this is an incredibly logical explanation. *bows***

**Anonymous riddler****: The man who walks into a bar would say "OUCH #*%$ WHO PUT A &$*% BAR IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SIDEWALK!"**

**Tanya****: Ouch! (That's the answer to your riddle, not my reaction to the story!) But if that was said in White Collar, then I have to say the answer to the riddle will become... CAFFREY!**

**3rdgal****: "OW!" or "Ouch!" or various words I don't want to type here. :P**

**Fedora****: The man may say any variation of "ouch", "ouch" being the best response in the presence of censors. **

**(If any of you opposes the fact that I wrote your name and quote, tell me so that I can make amends and remove the problem. And the underlining is used to contrast the name from the quote. It's not because I like one person over another. I love you all.)**

**Hope you had a good laugh and are ready for some reading cause here we go!**

**._._._._._._.**

The Sentinel

I lowered my coffee cup back onto the coaster, having emptied it, just as the waitress placed the check on the table. She smiled shyly at me as she straightened and I offered her a grin in return. She turned with a giggle and glided back down the aisle, deliberately adding more sway to her hips as she moved. I'm a man. I watched.

"Will you stop that."

I shifted my gaze away from the waitress to face my partner. I flashed him with the same smile and he rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Peter," I cajoled. "Don't tell me you've never noticed a pretty face."

Peter Burke met my gaze, his lips curved in a lopsided smirk. "I'm a happily married man. I don't need to go hunting pretty faces when I have a perfectly good one at home."

"Elizabeth gets jealous," I interjected knowingly.

"I'd rather not sleep on the couch," Peter concurred with a chuckle. He downed the last of his coffee and picked up the check, scanning it quickly. His eyes stopped at the bottom of the paper and he released a "why-am-I-not-surprised" sigh.

I tilted my head at him quizzically and he flipped the check around for me to see. At the bottom of the paper under the total cost of out coffee was a seven digit number complete with an area code and a small heart drawn in ink. I met Peter's level gaze with another smile and a shrug.

"Should I take the check?" I asked innocently.

"Oh no. I'm paying this one," Peter replied as he pulled the check back and dug his wallet out of his pocket. He flipped through some bills, keeping his gaze down and distracted. "You can go wait outside."

I just shook my head at him as I stood. "Jealously, thy name is disgruntled agent."

That got his attention. He snapped his head up to look at me and attempted to appear stern but he was unable to hide the amusement sparkling in his eyes. 'Watch it, Caffrey, or you get the couch."

I lifted my hands in mock-surrender and backed away from the table before turning on my heel and heading for the front door, conscious of Peter's gentle chuckling behind me. I tipped my hat to the giggling waitress and slipped outside into the crisp morning air. I inhaled deeply and thought that the day was going to go well.

It didn't take long for the day to prove me wrong.

"Well, well. If it isn't Neal Caffrey."

I turned to face the voice and froze, my heart plummeting to my feet like cement, locking me in place. Contrarily, a shiver went up my spine to lace my forehead in beads of cold sweat. I could no longer feel the heat of the sun nor the chill of the morning breeze. I focused solely on the man that sauntered up to stand before me.

He wore a suit, which was an upgrade from the last time I saw him. His hair had white laced among the black strands and wrinkles creased his forehead and eyes. Food appeared to have been more readily available to him since his stomach protruded slightly instead of its original concave design.

The only thing that was the same was his eyes. Ten years did little to warm the icy depths of those blue glaciers. In fact, it seemed like time only increased their cold intensity. I shivered under that gaze.

"Nicholas Sinder," I greeted as casually as I could manage, slipping my hands into my pockets to appear languid and calm. It was really to hide the shaking of my hands.

The greasy smile that curved up Nicholas' lips proved that he had read my mind. "Glad you remember me." He stepped closer with the confidence of a predator playing with its prey.

"It has been a while, hasn't it?" he asked cheerfully.

"Ten years," I clarified. I could never forget him.

"That's right," he mused, rubbing the stubble on his chin with his thumb thoughtfully. "Last time I saw you, you were running to the cops after a job. Never understood that. Not even eight years thinking it over in prison brought up an answer."

"You killed a family." I answered, fear and anger alike making my voice waver.

Nicholas met my gaze as a smile spread across his lips. "Allegedly." My stomach twisted with a painful dread and my legs started to shake as badly as my concealed hands. Still, I refused to betray my emotions. My mask was in place and I couldn't afford to let it fall. I couldn't let this murderer see that I was terrified of him.

"I was let out on good behavior," he scoffed. "So what's new with you? Heard you've become quite the obedient dog. Word is, an agent finally tamed you." Nicholas' eyes travelled knowingly down to my collared leg with his head tilted in amusement. "Still don't like guns?"

I didn't answer. I was preoccupied with the people around me. Couples going into shops, families eating breakfast with friends, children running around their parents, laughing. And the big bad wolf stood in the middle of all the sheep with his smile of hidden fangs. I knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill any of these innocent lives and I knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill me.

I was trapped. If I ran, he'd follow, taking out anyone who got in his way. If I retreated back inside the coffee shop, he'd follow, taking the customers hostage; threatening the cute waitress and even worse, Peter. Charm was useless. Rationalizing was pointless. I could do nothing but stand still and try not to antagonize the wolf.

"No, I'd imagine you still don't." Nicholas examined me, his eyes flickering over my stricken form, taking note of my hidden hands and quivering legs. He noted the sweat on my forehead and the rapid movements of my chest as I swallowed my breaths. Lastly, he looked me in the eye, his smile still in place. He took another step forward.

"We haven't seen each other in years. How about you come with me and we catch up. I have so much to tell you."

I felt my heart skip a beat and then go into overdrive as Nicholas loomed closer, those eyes cold and forlorn; that insidious smile still aimed at me. He reached out a hand and I was helpless to do anything to avoid it. If I moved, he would attack. And he may hurt someone else. I couldn't risk that. I closed my eyes and swallowed. I would be better if only I got hurt. That way, I wouldn't have to watch another family get torn apart.

"Excuse me," a new voice interrupted and suddenly a hand took hold of my shoulder as a warmth came up beside me, dissipating the previous cold. I opened my eyes and looked up to see my sentinel standing beside me. His eyes were locked forward in a steady stare, his jaw tight; his body tense. "Is something wrong?"

I glanced at Nicholas. The man had gone still, his hand hovering in the air; his smile wiped clean off his face. His eyes had grown colder.

"Agent Peter Burke, I presume," he said, disdain sharpening the words.

If Peter noticed the tone, he didn't show it on his face. Instead, he matched it with his voice. "And you must be Nicholas Sinder. I thought I heard something about your release."

"I am preceded," Nicholas said with a patronizing bow. Again, Peter gave it no notice. He remained firm beside me, a guarding statue carved from steel.

"Is something wrong?" Peter asked again although this time I felt like the question had been personalized to me.

"No, nothing's wrong, Agent. Caffrey and I were just catching up on old times. Weren't we Caffrey?"

I swallowed and Peter gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. My gaze flickered up to him again. He was still staring intently at the threat that stood before us. "Yeah," I stuttered, my throat dry.

"Are you done?" Peter asked icily.

"I believe we are," Nicholas replied.

"Good. Come one, Neal. Time to go."

Peter's hand slipped down between my shoulder blades and he applied pressure, gently pushing me forward. I complied, my legs struggling to perform the act asked of them. We passed Nicholas, Peter making sure that he stood between us, blocking the glower Nicholas shot my way. We made it past and kept going without hindrance.

"Until next time, Caffrey," Nicholas called after us.

I looked over my shoulder to see Nicholas still standing where we had left him, cold fury alight in those eyes.

"Keep walking," Peter commanded quietly. I looked up at him. His eyes were looking forward, refusing to look back. I took the hint and locked my gaze forward too as I kept pace with Peter.

We turned down a street and continued down the sidewalk, taking more turns as we went until I started to wonder if Peter was lost and was trying to find his way back to the office. After a minute more I realized that he wasn't lost at all. He was purposefully weaving through the streets of New York in order to lose any tail we might have had. He kept us moving and kept us changing streets to remove any follower.

All the while, his hand remained a steady pressure on my back, guiding me forward and reminding me that he was at my side and wasn't going anywhere. I smiled and risked a looked back. No one suspicious was behind us.

"This way," I muttered, brushing my fingertips lightly across the front of his jacket to get his attention. I turned sharply into an alley, Peter right at me side.

I walked down the alley for a while, following the twists and curves until it dropped us off at an intersection of four alleys. I scanned the small streets and, satisfied that no one had followed us, walked to a corner where a single lamp stood dormant.

And promptly fell to my knees.

I sat there, leaning against the lamp pole and gasping loudly for a moment, my fear catching up to me as my hands shook furiously. Peter knelt beside me and blew out a held breath. He rubbed at his mouth as I ran a shaky hand through my hair, his eyes still roaming over the streets. When his scan was complete, he looked at me.

"You ok?" he asked, slightly breathless. "You looked pretty scared back there."

I had been petrified. "He's a lot to be scared about," I said instead, rubbing at my eyes and the tension that was creating a headache at the spot between them. I let my fingers trail over my cheeks to fall back into my lap. Then I looked up at Peter and smiled weakly.

"You have no idea how happy I am that you were there."

Peter offered me his lopsided smile. "I can guess."

He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder and I relished in the warmth it provided and the protection it promised.

"You ok?" he asked again.

I looked up at his concerned eyes, so different from Nicholas' cold glaciers void of any sort of human compassion. And I was reminded just how lucky I was to have Peter as my partner instead of Nicholas.

I smiled. "Yeah."

Peter patted my shoulder and stood. He offered me his hand and I took it. Peter pulled me to my feet and made sure I was steady before allowing his hands to return to his sides.

"Thanks," I said with all sincerity as I adjusted my hat.

Peter shrugged modestly. "I got your back."

"I know," I said gently. I tapped his shoulder with my closed fist. "And I got yours."

And I trusted him to hold true to his words. And I knew that he trusted me to hold true to mine. And I did. I always would.

**._._._._._._.**

**Yes, another "I got your back" fic. But I like them. **

**This is my first fic writing in Neal's POV. I had already written a fic entitled ****Hat Trick**** in which I wrote in Peter's POV so I figured I'd try my luck at writing through Neal's perspective. Did I do good?**

**So, my finals are finally over so now I have a whole month to catch up on some old fanfics and write new stories for this compilation. I must warn you though, I'm thinking of ending ol' ****Partners of Paradox**** when the third season starts. Out with the old and in with the new right? It's a thought.**

**Anyway, I'm sure you're wondering what your next riddle is. Well, here it is:**

********There are two of these in every room and one in every corner. What am I?****

**This is kind of like that minute/moment riddle. Can you figure out the answer?**

**Good luck and Hobey-Ho**


	18. Secret Santa

**The answer was the letter "o."**

**I guess my hint may have given too much away. That or you guys are just way too smart. That's good. Use those smarts for the finals if you have any. But now's not the time to think about finals. Now's the time to sit back, relax, and read some fanfiction. And find out who the winners are. **

**And those winners include:**

**Shlee Verde  
KebaKira  
MissMio  
SakuraBlossomQuiet1  
kira66  
mayaswelltry (I go to a UC school and the quarter system goes by very fast)  
Pghj2005  
brokenclaw  
3rdgal  
Fedora  
SparkyDorian  
Mycroft R Holmes  
MelodySings  
Anonymous riddler (and your spider answer and explanation was priceless. Spiders are everywhere…)**

**A whole lot of new names this time. I'm so happy I've attracted new readers. It's nice to meet you all, thanks for reading my fic, and I'm glad you're enjoying it. **

**Well, the Christmas holiday is upon us – because Hanukkah was held very early this year – and for that occasion I have made a themed fic for you this time. Enjoy. **

**._._._._._._.**

Secret Santa

"So, who'd you get for your Secret Santa?"

"It's a secret, remember? I'm not telling you."

"Hey, if the rules aren't set in stone…"

"Make a contract. Neal, Jones made the rules perfectly clear. Do you really want to add 'Secret Santa Rule-Breaker' to your list of offenses?"

"Alleged offenses."

"Alleged."

"You're taking this pretty seriously, Peter. Is your person really that important?"

"To me, yes, I think so."

"Hmm, then I'm going to guess it's Diana."

"Of course you would. If you're so curious, why don't you tell me who your Secret Santa is."

"Sorry, Peter. I believe in equivalent exchange. If you want information out of me, you'll have to give me some info in return. Tempted?"

"No thank you."

"Ah well, your loss. I suppose I'll find out eventually."

"Oh really?"

"Convict, remember? I know how to manipulate the system."

"Ex-convict."

"Consultant."

"Don't you have work to do?"

"And here I thought chivalry had survived."

"Yeah, get going."

"All right. But I will find out."

"The FBI isn't so flippant with secrets like the other people you've conned."

"So now it's a bet. Challenge accepted."

Before Peter could say more, Neal had already spun on his heel and started off in the opposite direction. The agent could only watch that receding back and try to suppress the smile that tugged at his lips.

He had full faith that Neal would find out every person's Secret Santa with his alluring smile, trusting eyes, and charming demeanor. It was only a matter of time. No one was completely immune to the magic Neal Caffrey cast. Not even Peter Burke.

But the agent would keep his secret to himself. If he told anyone who he was Secret Santa for, then Neal would surely learn of it too. As long as he kept his mouth shut, he would be safe.

Peter looked down at his hand where a folded piece of paper lay nestled between his fingers. He carefully unfolded the paper and gazed upon the name of the person he would have to buy a gift for. This paper too was evidence that Neal could eventually find and it would have to be destroyed to ensure Peter won the bet now in play.

He went to the bathroom and eased the paper down the sink; weighing it down with water: the only safe way to dispose of paper besides burning it. Neal could easily tape it together if it was torn and thrown away and could just as easily swipe it out of Peter's pocket.

Peter walked out of the bathroom, the paper gone but the name still burning in his mind where it would simmer until his commitment to buy his Secret Santa gift was accomplished.

Luckily, said name would be forever lodged in his memory for the rest of his life. He wouldn't be forgetting it anytime soon. Whether he liked it or not.

_Neal Caffrey._

**._._._._._._.**

**Peter is crafty. Oh yes. After Neal spent his prison time taping evidence together against Fowler, I figured that simply ripping up the paper and throwing it away wasn't good enough. So down the sink it went. You are welcome to use this technique if you need to get rid of evidence but remember, you didn't hear it from me.**

**And now for something completely different: your riddle.**

**** I ****am four letters long and I can be seen in the sky. I am the ocean and I am the sea. Can you guess me?** **

**Good luck. I believe in you!**

**Merry ChrismaHanaKwanzakkah to all and to all a good night!**

**Hobey-Ho**


	19. Santa's Elf: a sequel

**The answer was blue.**

**Other good and logically explained answers include: the moon, rain, star (star in sky and starfish in water**

**Here are the winners of the last riddle:**

**Pghj2005  
morgo7kc  
Kathryn Marie Black (you got this one right!)  
Shlee Verde  
Ultracape  
NayahReidWhumper xD  
BrilliantGreenEyes  
HuffynDK (I like your Satchmo idea. That's a good one)  
Kanae Valentine  
kira66  
Sparky Dorian  
Duffy1 (moon works too)  
mayaswelltry (I actually search the internet long and hard to find the perfect riddles for you)  
SherlockXHolmes23  
extraordinary geek  
MaraudingSnitch1314  
3rdgal  
pluvial somnium (aka – The Smirk on my Face)  
the-vampire-act  
Anonymous riddler (usually the obvious is right but I love all your other answers.)  
MichaelaTheUchiha (I actually do feel pretty special. Thanks so much!)**

**Look at all my smart readers and so many more new names. I tell you, writing is a truly satisfying activity.**

**So, I hope you all had happy holidays and are enjoying break – since I'm sure most of you have Christmas Break.**

**And here it is, a never-before-seen in this compilation event: A SEQUEL!**

**You guys asked for it so here it is: The sequel to ****Secret Santa.**

**._._._._._._.**

Santa's Elf

"So what happens when I win the bet?"

Neal Caffrey looked up and Peter detected just a hint of annoyance in the younger man's eyes. It was gone in the next blink, of course, but it had been there and Peter felt satisfaction curve his lips up into a smug grin.

"Today is technically the last day," Peter continued, lifting his gaze from his disgruntled partner to see agents exchanging gifts. "I'd wager you have about five minutes left until the bet's over. And I win."

Neal refused to meet Peter's taunting gaze and continued to scribble diligently on a piece of paper before him. Peter tried to peek over Neal to see what he was writing but Neal hitched up his shoulders and purposefully leaned forward in his seat to cover the paper.

He shot Peter a glare. "Do you mind?"

"If it's illegal, yes," Peter countered coyly.

"It's not."

"Show me anyway."

Neal arched a brow at Peter pointedly. The gesture seemed to label the Peter as a child: a child that Daddy Neal was too busy to play with or be pestered by. What lack of respect.

Peter backed off and ambled back to the lean against the side of the desk. He folded his arms and watched Neal work patiently. More gifts were exchanged between Secret Santas and Elves but Neal didn't cheat by noting who exchanged gifts with whom. He was focused solely on the paper in front of him.

Peter dramatically looked at his watch.

"Don't count me out of the game yet," Neal said confidently. Peter glanced at the ex-con. Neal hadn't even lifted his head. He just kept writing.

"There!" Neal announced proudly a minute later. He stood triumphantly, waving the paper as if he had figured out the solution for global warming.

Peter reached for the paper but Neal pulled it back, holding it close to his chest with a mischievous smile. Now who was being childish?

"Before I win the bet, let's make a prize," Neal said, his smile turning sly. "When I win, I get to go to the Museum of Modern Art for the Abstract Expressionist New York exhibit."

"And when _I_ win, you get me into the _Al Di La Trattoria_. I promised El a romantic Italian dinner and you're a professional at getting into places where there's a line to get in."

Neal nodded. "True."

"All right, Caffrey," Peter said as he straightened, all business. "Who am I the Secret Santa for?"

Neal flashed his signature grin and looked at his paper. "First, an explanation. The trick to the magic, if you will."

Peter rolled his eyes and Neal chuckled.

"I have written down all the names. I have also been asking around."

"I knew you would," Peter interrupted.

"And my findings have informed me who is giving a gift to whom. Since I know everyone's Elf but yours, all I have to do is see who the only person who I don't have a Secret Santa for. Then I'll know who is your Elf."

Without another word, Neal turned his attention to the paper to find the two people who didn't have a match with anyone else. His eyes scanned the paper, shifting back and forth as he connected the matches he had already found and searched for the people without one.

A moment later, he paused, his smile fading and eyes widening with surprise. He looked up at Peter, the paper limp and unimportant in his hands.

"Me."

Peter smiled warmly and pulled an envelope out of his pocket. "Merry Christmas, Neal. You win."

Neal stared dumbly at the envelope, all previous assurance and complacency gone. Then he took the envelope and opened it. He pulled out two tickets.

"Tickets for the Museum of Modern Art," Neal said, awe making his voice soft. "How did you…?"

"I know you," Peter answered simply. "I knew you'd win," he admitted. "I knew a simple puzzle like this would be nothing for you. And I figured you'd want to go to that Expressionist exhibit."

Neal just stared at him, the tickets secured in his hand. Then he smiled, his face brightening beautifully with joy as his eyes lit up excitedly like, well, like a kid on Christmas day.

Peter smiled in return. "One thing though," he said, holding up his index finger for emphasis, "Since it is out of your radius, an escort will have to go with you." His smile broadened. "I figured Mozzie could keep an eye on you."

"So that means…"

Peter nodded. "Yes, we're letting you go past your radius. But the anklet stays on, got it? We'll still be tracking you."

"That's fine," Neal said with the breath of a laugh. He was just glad to be going to the exhibit. And Mozzie would appreciate the invitation to come along. "Thank you, man." He extended his other hand and Peter gripped it in a shake. "Thank you."

"You deserve it," Peter added.

"I'll get you a table at that restaurant."

The declaration caught Peter off guard and he paused, his hand in mid-shake. "What?"

"I'll get you a reservation for _Al Di La Trattoria._"

"But you aren't my Secret Santa. Patrick was," Peter stammered uncertainly. "And you can't make a reservation for that restaurant."

"I'm your friend," Neal shrugged, slipping his hand out of Peter's to place it in his pocket languidly. "I don't need to be your Santa to get you a gift. Besides, I know a guy. He'll save you a table as a favor to me."

Gratitude and delight replaced the previous shock and Peter's smile returned with renewed strength. "Thanks."

Neal shrugged again with a sincere smile. "Merry Christmas, Peter."

"Merry Christmas, Neal."

**._._._._._._.**

**How was that for a sequel? Hope you liked it. I know the whole Christmas theme is a little late but it's still December: the month of holidays, so I figured it would be all right.**

**I did a little research to see what exhibits Neal might be interested in. I also researched the restaurant Peter wanted to take El. It's a nice Italian place that's not too expensive so Peter can afford it. Research really helps keep the story and characters authentic. You have to make sure the characters are compatible with the place or event. They would have to realistically want to go to that event or place.**

**So, until next time my readers (and please inform me of any typos you may encounter.)**

**Hobey-Ho**

**I know. I forgot the riddle. Here it is.**

****What is it that when you take away the whole, you still have some left over?****


	20. Thinking of an Animal

**The answer was the word "wholesome."**

**A lot of you answered with donuts. And when I tested this riddle on my sister, she too proclaimed that the answer was donuts. And, yes, in a less literal sense, I suppose that when you take the hole away from the donut, you still have a donut, most likely cream-filled too. Yum. So, I have also accepted the answer of donuts. **

**Faraji  
The Smirk On my Face (Aha! I remembered you, pluvia.)  
Pghj2005  
SherlockXHolmes23  
3rdgal  
[unknown]  
Anonymous riddler (and all you out-of-the-box answers. If you weren't so "anonymous" I would have replied to your review with a novel full of gratitude, appreciation, and the expression of the honor I feel towards you and your special reviews. Thank you so much!)  
Ultracape  
Mycroft R Holmes  
nellie330  
Fedora  
Kathryn Marie Black  
Kanae Valentine**

**Thank you so much for all of your reviews and I'm glad you enjoyed my first sequel in this compilation. I'm sorry it took so long to post another chapter but now that school's back, things are getting a little hectic again. And to those of you who I have promised a story to, don't fret, I haven't forgotten. I have my ideas; now they just need to be written done once I can find some free time. **

**Three more days till White Collar season 2.5!**

**._._._._._._._.**

Thinking of an Animal

"This is boring."

Peter Burke sighed with growing annoyance. Despite the heavy headphones covering both ears, the complaint was still audible. He kept his eyes locked onto the monitor, praying for something to show up and distract him.

"I mean really boring."

Come on. A flap of the curtain. An opening of the door. A shadowy stranger loitering on the steps. A furtive glance looking out the window. The sound of a struggle. Anything. Just let something jump in front of the camera or make a noise.

"Like the epitome of boring."

God help him if this was a false alarm. Someone was going to pay dearly for making him leave his wife in the middle of the night to spy on a house where a suspicious suspect was _supposedly_ seen.

"Epitome. Isn't that a funny word? E-pit-o-me. The way it's spelled, you'd think it would be pronounced Epi-toe-me. Then it would be an even funnier word."

And someone was going to pay dearly for allowing Neal Caffrey to be the one to perform the stakeout with him.

"Peter," Neal said, extending the name in a whine. "I'm bored." Though he didn't say it, the statement seemed to scream, "Entertain me!"

Unable to take any more of the abuse, Peter tore the headphones off and spun in his chair to glare at Neal. His partner was lounging in another chair, his long legs hanging over one armrest and his head and shoulders hanging over the other so that he was looking upside down at Peter, his wavy hair stretching to reach the floor.

"You wanted to come," Peter reminded him, leaning back in his chair to stare back at Neal with amusement.

"Yeah," Neal replied, casting a glance to the side to avoid Peter's you-made-your-bed-now-lie-in-it look. "But there's nothing to do."

"Sure there is," Peter taunted, his own annoyance fading at the sight of Neal's distress. "It's the van. There's monitors to watch, receivers to listen to, all that fun stuff."

Neal shot Peter a glare that expressed his lack of amusement towards Peter's sarcastic suggestions.

"And it's cold," Neal grumbled as an afterthought, again looking away to stare at something that seemed to be of a little more interest under the shelf supporting the electronic equipment.

"That's what coffee's for," Peter offered, holding up his own cup to prove his point. Neal made another incoherent grumble as a slight shiver shook his shoulders.

Peter took a large gulp from his coffee, appreciative of the steaming liquid that coursed down his throat to warm his belly. He tugged his jacket a little closer to ward of the cold that not even the shelter of the van could omit. It _was_ pretty cold, on the verge of freezing actually. In fact, he could see some frost forming on the window-shield. God how he wished he could go home.

"Hey," Neal said suddenly, the excitement back in his voice as his expression brightened. He sat up and turned in his chair to face Peter, his hair slightly puffy. "Let's play a game."

Peter sighed and turned back to face the monitor. "For the eighth time, no."

Neal tilted his head at him quizzically. "Eighth? You've been counting?"

Peter arched a brow. "Nothing to do, right?"

"Touché."

Peter shifted smugly in his seat and replaced the headphones over his ears. Silly him for thinking the discussion was over.

"Just one game," Neal pleaded, inching closer to Peter in his chair.

Peter sidled away in his own chair. "Maybe later," he said in hopes that Neal would drop the subject.

Neal stopped his advance and spun idly in his chair for a moment, his eyes drifting over the various instruments within the van.

Then, "Peter."

"What?"

"It's later."

Peter pushed the headphones down to let them hang around his neck and then snapped a threatening glare at the ex-con. "Damn it, Neal, no. We've got a job to do."

"Just a quick game. Twenty questions. Just to pass the time." Neal continued hopefully, sliding up to Peter again.

"I said no."

"Come on. You know as well as I that Hopkins isn't in that house. Or else we would have seen something by now. The only reason we're still here is that Hughes told you to stay," Neal reasoned lightly with a shrug. "Let's just play a game. I'll start. I'm thinking of an animal."

"Damn it, Neal. I. Said. NO!" Peter roared angrily.

Neal withdrew back into his chair, stricken; eyes wide.

"I don't want to play a game with you. I don't even want to be here. I just want to go home. And the fastest way to get home is to do this job and I'm damn well going to do it. And I'm not going to have you annoying me every minute of the hour."

By now, Peter was on his feet, the headphones discarded at his feet; staring hard down at Neal, his rising voice vibrating in the small space of the van to the point that it hurt his own ears, but he didn't stop.

"So if you want to play your little games, then get out and let me work in peace."

Ignoring the image of a suddenly small-looking Neal cringing in his chair, Peter reached down and grabbed hold of Neal's arm. He pulled the younger man out of the chair and to his feet. Then he unceremoniously dragged Neal to the double doors of the van, pulled the door open, and shoved Neal outside into the cold. Before Neal could steady himself and turn around, Peter slammed the door shut and marched back to his chair. He plopped down into his seat heavily, chest heaving as he continued to fume.

He took a few forceful deep breaths to calm down and slowly sagged into his chair. He rubbed at his eyes as the adrenaline rush wore off and exhaustion took its place.

A minute later, he noticed the silence.

Peter removed his hand from his eyes to look around. The van was empty except for himself, and the silence that swelled in the small space was deafening. The electronic instruments looked so cold and forlorn with the pale glow of the monitor casting the cables and wires in a sickly hue. It also seemed to have grown colder with the absence of a source of body heat.

Peter's fingers twitched and he looked down at the hand that had gripped Neal's arm. The muscles were still relaxing. He had grabbed Neal pretty hard. Through his haze of anger, Peter had been blind to the fact that Neal had flinched when Peter had touched him. But he remembered the look of fear on Neal's face now and the way the younger man had cringed away from him.

He had scared Neal. He hadn't meant to do that. He didn't want to do that. He had just wanted some peace. But he let his anger and frustration get the best of him and he had taken it out on Neal. That wasn't fair. Nor was it right.

Neal was the one that had volunteered to leave his warm bed and safe home to wait in a van in the cold, with Peter. The ex-con had just wanted to give his friend company, to distract Peter from the boredom the van always created. And Peter had kicked him out.

After a moment more of quiet contemplation, Peter stood and brought down a spare blanket from the storage shelf above. He also picked up Neal's thermos of hot coffee. Then he opened the door of the van and stepped out into the sharp sting of the brisk night.

As expected, the man he was looking for sat huddled near the rear tire of the van. Neal had his knees curled up to his chest and gripped them closer with his arms. His chin rested rigidly on his knees and his nose was buried in the nook of one arm. A puff of white escaped into the air with every breath. His jacket was pulled taut against him but he still shivered.

The sight made pity strengthen the guilt that already gnawed at Peter's gut. Peter carefully moved to stand beside Neal. Then he wordlessly extended the cup and blanket to the shivering man.

At first, it seemed like Neal didn't know Peter was standing there. His eyes were closed and he made no move to accept the offerings. And then he opened his eyes to look to the side. At last, his shifted his gaze to the coffee and blanket and then stiffly reached out a hand to take the coffee. He gripped the thermos between his trembling, ungloved hands and took a shaky sip.

Peter took the acceptance of the coffee as the acceptance of his presence. So he unfurled the blanket and lowered it over Neal, easing it tentatively onto his partner's shoulders and then wrapping it around his huddled form, securing it behind him as Neal leaned forward to allow the blanket to intercept the van's bite of metal. Neal nestled his face into the blanket, unable to hide his gratitude for the welcome warmth.

"Can I sit?" Peter asked patiently.

Neal thought about it during another sip of coffee. His eyes flickered to the spot beside him and then he closed his eyes once more. Peter took the hint and took his seat next to Neal.

It was quiet for a moment, the agent and CI sitting side by side beside a van in the middle of a cold night.

"I'm sorry," Peter said sincerely.

Neal opened his eyes in acknowledgment but still refused to look at Peter.

"I had no right to yell at you. I had no right to kick you out. You did nothing wrong. It was my fault I got angry and I'm sorry." Peter looked to Neal to see if his latest offering was accepted.

Neal sighed heavily and then finally turned his head to look at Peter. "It's been a long night," he agreed with small smile as he offered part of his blanket to Peter.

Peter smiled gratefully back at his friend and took the offered blanket. He sidled closer to Neal and pulled the blanket over him to keep the cold away. "Thanks."

Neal nodded as he lifted his head to gaze out over the empty street to the darkened house beyond.

Then, "Hey, Neal."

Neal looked to meet Peter's lopsided smile.

"I'm thinking of an animal."

**._._._._._._._.**

**Three more days till White Collar season 2.5! Ah, so exciting! Can't wait. And the day after that is my birthday. ^_^ Though, to be honest, I'm more excited about the return of White Collar than my bday. Meh.**

**Hey, are any of you readers also DA artists? Just wondering because there are a few scenes in this fic that I would love to see in a picture. I tried posting some of my work on DA but to post written work, you need a preview or something. I'm not really sure what to do. If you know, can you please tell me? Thanks so much.**

**Well, I suppose I should give you that riddle now. It's getting harder to find good ones nowadays but I shall continue to supply you with good riddles. Count on it.**

****What goes up and never comes down?****

**Granted, there are probably a lot of different answers you can give me to this riddle and I'd love to see them all. Sure, there is one, true, answer (so to speak) but I like seeing your creativity when it comes to answering my riddles. Let's see what you guys can come up with.**

**Safety and Peace upon you all.**

**Hobey-Ho**

**(p.s.: Three more days till White Collar season 2.5)**


	21. April Showers

**The answer was your age. **

**But since I received a whole bunch of good and logical answers, I shall add: heat/steam/smoke, fireworks work since the fireworks go up and sparks come down (a stretch, I know, but I think it works), the price of gasoline, satellites (if they do come down, it's not as a satellite but a raging inferno that crumbles to dust), Edward Cullen's hair (this answer comes from fellow disliker of Twilight, Kanea), taxes, the year, and college tuition.**

**And the winners are:**

**BunBunBabe  
kira66  
mayaswelltry  
kleptomaniac  
morgo7kc  
Fedora  
The Smirk on my Face  
hehehe (hahaha. I like your name.)  
Shlee Verde  
NayahReidWhumper xD  
Kanea Valentine  
Sparky Dorian  
wolfeylady  
SherlockXHolmes23  
Pghj2005  
Ultracape  
3rdgalMichaelaTheUchiha  
Anonymous riddler/ Un-Anonymous Riddler (always appreciative of your out-of-the-box answers)  
annec3  
Mycroft R Holmes  
Tigrislupa  
Angelpoint  
Aranna Undomiel (welcome, good job, and thank you)**

**You guys are so good. And look how many of you there are. I'm so proud. And grateful. Speaking of grateful, thank you for all the "Happy Birthdays." It was a good one, thanks.**

**Now, I know I haven't written in a while. In fact, a whole half of a season has come and gone, and I haven't posted a thing. I blame college. The whole quarter was study, project, essay, study, midterm, essay, project, essay, study, final. Whew!**

**But the quarter is over and I finally have some free time. So I wrote. And here it is.**

**._._._._._._.**

April Showers

"Not again," Peter Burke moaned as he glared up at the darkened sky, gentle drops prickling his cheeks and splashing into the puddles at his feet. "That's the third time this week. Can't we get a day without it raining?"

"Hey, you know what they say," Neal Caffrey proposed with a resigned shrug, "'April showers bring May flowers.'"

"Sure," Peter snorted disdainfully. "That and flooding, a leaking roof, and the smell of mildew that takes a month to get out."

"Come on, Peter. Try to stay positive," Neal protested as he opened his umbrella, the drops having grown in size and increased in speed. The tiny bullets pelted the fabric of the umbrella.

"Tell that to my socks," Peter grumbled and hissed a curse at another underestimation of a puddle.

Neal offered him a sympathetic smile that lost its effect due to his stifled chuckle. At Peter's scowl he looked away and moved the umbrella between them so that it could cover both their heads.

"And my umbrella just had to break yesterday," Peter growled, shooting a furtive glance up and down the sidewalk before sidling closer to Neal to be better protected from the rain.

"It was pretty windy," Neal concurred dutifully. "And like the perfect gentleman, you didn't accept El's umbrella despite her protests."

"You'd think the universe would give me a break for that, but no," Peter complained, biting off the end of his sentence.

As if to emphasize his conclusion, the wind picked up in a sudden gust that threw water into their faces and snatched the umbrella away from over their heads.

"Watch it," Neal exclaimed in surprise as he clung to the handle of the umbrella as the thin fabric pulled back, exposing the metallic legs underneath. Peter shot his hand out and gripped the handle as well, joining the tug-of-war battle between Neal and the wind.

The umbrella wavered in the wind until the wind realized it could not win and released it. The umbrella fell limp and Neal and Peter staggered back. The wind tugged mockingly at the ends of their coats as Neal lifted the extended stalk of the umbrella, showing that all the metallic legs were pointed straight up.

"Great," Peter sighed in exasperation as he tried to smooth down his hair. "Now we have to walk the rest of the way to work without an umbrella."

"Think of the bright side," Neal suggested without his previous optimism. He tossed his petrified umbrella into a trash bin and used both hands to return his suddenly disarrayed hair to its original position "April showers–"

"– Bring May flowers," Peter finished without conviction. "Yeah, yeah."

He glanced at Neal and blinked at the abrupt shift in attitude. Now that he was cold and wet, Neal looked so sullen and miserable, rain soaking his hair flush against his head and rivers streaming down his forehead, forcing him to blink and constantly wipe the water away unsuccessfully with a wet sleeve. He sniffed piteously and looked up at Peter bleakly.

And Peter was sure that his own negative attitude was doing nothing to alleviate the situation.

"All right, come on," Peter said gently and placed a hand between Neal's shivering shoulders. "Let's hurry back to the office. We'll stop and get some coffee from the eleventh floor on our way up."

Neal smiled with a little less dour. "Really?" he asked like a child hoping he was actually going to get the ice cream promised to him on a hot day.

"Really," Peter answered with his own smile. "Now keep close to the buildings. It's a little drier under the awnings."

The two shivering men continued down the sidewalk, Neal's coat almost brushing against the buildings as he stayed as close to them as possible without actually touching them. Peter walked beside him, doing his best to stay under the awnings with Neal and protect his friend from the water the wind kicked up at him.

They passed lit diners, bakeries, coffee shops, and other such businesses which tempted them with open doors, dry interiors, padded chairs, and hot drinks and food. But Neal and Peter pushed on, their only drive being that if they were late for work, Hughes would give them the double-finger point and a lecture.

"May flowers," Peter mumbled encouragingly to repel the dismal cloud that cascaded down around them with the falling rain. Neal chuckled beside him and Peter felt accomplished.

At last they made it to the FBI building and gratefully walked through the doors and into the dry and warm receptionist area. The woman behind the counter stared wide-eyed at the soaking and bedraggled men that padded past her and into an elevator.

As promised, Peter hit the button for the eleventh floor and Neal's face brightened. A few minutes later and the two were leaving wet footprints along the carpeted aisle between cubicles. They walked straight to the employee's lounge and to the steaming pot of coffee.

Peter handed Neal a Styrofoam cup and then took his own as Neal poured himself a cup. As Peter poured his own cup, Neal hastily added his desired flavor of cream (the eleventh floor had about six varieties of flavors versus the twenty-first floor's measly one) and then took a large gulp.

As expected Peter heard a cry of pain as he added his own cream and sugar. He looked up expectantly at Neal who was breathing through his mouth and fanning his tongue. Realizing he was being watched, Neal bravely met Peter's well-what-did-you-think-was-going-to-happen look.

"Worth id," he announced and took another, more cautious, sip with a murmur of content.

Peter chuckled with a shake of his head but also decided that the coffee would taste so much better now than if he had to wait for it to cool.

"Peter? Neal? What are you two doing down here?" a new voice asked.

Peter and Neal both hid their burned tongues and turned guiltily to face the owner of the voice.

"Ah," the man said understandingly as he eyed the two cups of coffee. "Of course. Why did I even ask?"

"Just came for the good stuff, Marty," Peter explained, stating the obvious. He lifted his cup in greeting and thanks.

"Why am I not surprised," Martin Miles chuckled. He placed his hands on his hips in an authoritative manner but seemed to deflate at the sight of the sopping partners. "All right. You have your coffee. Now get out of here before my boss sees you."

Peter nodded and ushered Neal out of the lounge. "I owe you," Neal called back over his shoulder.

"I know," Martin responded. "And I'm still keeping score."

Neal paled slightly in dismay but managed to flash a smile at Martin before Peter pushed him past the last cubicle and towards the elevators.

"We really need to get this recipe," Neal said past his cup as he took another sip. "Our coffee needs the renovation."

"Tough luck," Peter replied, stepping into the elevator with Neal and pushing the button for the twenty-first floor. "That coffee is Martin's precious secret recipe. He'll only share it on his death bed."

Neal sighed knowingly but cheered as another sip of coffee warmed his throat.

The elevator rang and the two stepped out, their shoes squeaking on the tiled floor before quieting as they pushed past the doors and into the White Collar Division. Jones looked up at them first and stifled a laugh at their appearances. He stood up to meet them.

"Raining?" he asked cheekily.

Peter shot him a glare and Jones quieted. "There's someone who wants to meet you in your office," he said instead and stepped back so Peter could see.

Peter looked up, and through the glass window, he saw his visitor stand, put a hand to her mouth that he was sure was making melodious laughter, and then wave an umbrella at him. He smiled back.

Neal leaned in closer to him and dropped his voice. "Remember those May flowers?" he asked.

Peter looked at him. Neal smiled and nodded pointedly at Peter's visitor, encouraging him to go.

Peter gave Neal's shoulder a pat and ascended the stairs to his office to meet his beaming wife.

**._._._._._._._.**

**Yep, wrote this fic in honor of April and its showers. It rained here the entirety of Monday, Tuesday morning, and it just started today at this very moment I'm writing this, and it's supposed to rain tomorrow. Don't get me wrong. I love the rain. It's beautiful. But if you get caught in it, man it's cold, and miserable. **

**But just remember that May flowers are right around the corner. **

**And I don't know if you read my Christmas fic "The Perfect Gift," but if you recognized Martin, that's where he's from. He has the same (first) name, same personality, but just a different role in the story. He's a character of mine that I really like and he will be making appearances in other writings, just like how he appeared here.**

**So, I'm glad that you came back after so long and I hope you enjoyed the fic. Will be glad to hear from you all again. And your reason for responding, right below this sentence: the riddle.**

****I tolerate the moon and stars. I can't abide the sun. Banish me with torch light, and you'll see me turn and run. What am I?****

**Good luck and Hobey-Ho**


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